


Lion and Lace {Tom Hiddleston Fanfic}

by humble_beginnings



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 118,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humble_beginnings/pseuds/humble_beginnings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rebecca meets Tom while working in London, she finds her commitment to the boyfriend she left behind seriously tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

> _Dreams._
> 
> _Strange things._
> 
> _Sometimes we dream big, achieve it, and from the inside its more of a nightmare._ **  
>  **

“Becca? Come to bed.” Nathan calls from upstairs. I let out a soft sigh and close the laptop, switching off the lamps on the way to the bedroom. It isn’t that I’m reluctant to go to bed, or that I’m not sharing it with a tall, dark haired and ruggedly handsome man. It’s the fact he wants me there because he wants something from me and I feel a little obligated. Like when you ask for porridge for breakfast and then feel like breaking your mum’s heart if you say you’re tired of having it every day. **  
**

“I thought you were already asleep,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I bloody should be, it’s after midnight.”

I strip and toss my yoga pants and t-shirt onto the chair and slip between the sheets. I love clean sheets, even more so when the seasons are changing and the sheets are cool on warm skin. Nathan pulls me into a kiss, his tongue quickly finding mine as he rolls me to my back. It’s nice and familiar, no need for soft kisses and breathy moments to build the anticipation. We have a rhythm, we each know the other’s body so well at this point that it’s like doing ‘The Nutbush’. Everybody knows the steps; this hand there, a lick and suck there; and you don’t need any sort of flair or talent to get through it. His big, calloused hand skims down my naked side all the way to my thigh and hooks it around his hips, and then he’s teasing his shaft into me and moving it about just so.

“You do realise how this works, don’t you?” He says, as though I need reminding right this instant. “You can’t get pregnant from separate rooms.”

Well, technically… if you pay a technician a lot of money or you have a turkey baster and just the right timing… but I digress.

I latch my mouth onto his neck and groan as he begins making that delicious friction between my thighs.  

Not enough hours later I’m doing my best bum shuffle in a Qantas seat, trying to get comfy enough to sleep. The Sydney to London flight is ludicrous – a whole entire day on a plane. OK, that’s a lie. There’s a stopover in Singapore, or Dubai if you swing that way. But really, it might as well be a whole day on a plane. And then you arrive at Heathrow only to find that 12 hours have passed, not 24. Is it any wonder jetlag happens?

It’s Spring in London, which I will never get used to. April is Autumn in Australia, and it should be that way everywhere. I get a little belligerent when I’m tired, and I’ve been up almost 28 hours. At least spring and autumn are somewhat similar, the evening is crisp and after a quick text to let Nathan know I have arrived safe and well I collapse into a coma in the fluffy hotel pillows and doona.

* * *

“Good morning!” I’m greeted by the lovely Rachel from behind the reception desk. She’s been with us for a couple of years now, covering admin and some finance and all the odds and sods no one else wants to do. Rachel is just under 30, which makes her an entirely different generation to me even though it’s only a handful of years difference. I don’t hold that against her because she honestly sounds like she came straight out of Oliver Twist, I could listen to her speak all day and never get tired of it. Of course the generational gap means I had to explain the reference and play her a clip of it on Youtube, but I don’t hold that against her either. “How’s the Australian contingent?”

“Good, hon. I see you turned on the sun for me. Grumpy Mcbitchypants in her office?”

Rachel cringes. I think she’s a bit frightened of Prue and doesn’t know how to take her. She’s not sure how to reconcile a boss who can tell someone their work is rubbish but their hair is fabulous in the same breath. “She’ll be waiting for you in about two minutes. You know she’ll fire you if she hears you call her that.”

“No she won’t, I say it to her face. Would you mind getting coffees for us?” Surely that’s in Rachel’s position description, as long as I ask nicely, smile sweetly and give her cash to pay for it? I do all of those things and Rachel heads out the door while I knock on the door marked ‘Editor In Chief’.

“Come in,” a stern voice says from the other side.

I open the door with a little flourish and lean on the door frame. “We all know this Grumpy Mcbitchypants thing is just an act, Prue. You might be the editor of a multinational magazine but that doesn’t mean you can’t smile occasionally.”

Prue rolls her eyes and then her face lights up with a warm smile. Prue is gorgeous both in appearance and personality if you crack the hard exterior. She’s from Oxford and doesn’t sound anything like Oliver Twist, but she does understand the reference. In fact there’s very little in the world Prue wouldn’t understand, I think. “Shut the door before I have to teach you some respect.” She stands up from her chair and hugs me, and although its been a few months we could have seen one another yesterday. “How are you, Bec?”

“I’m great, sweetie. How are you?”

“A bit stressed, but good.” She releases me and leans back to look at me. “You’ve lost weight.”

I laugh, because she’s right and absolutely nothing escapes her notice. She’ll notice I’ve put it back on again before I leave, too. “Yeah, a couple of kilos. The ones I put on last time I was here. You saw my concepts for the shoot?”

“I did.” Prue raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

“It’s ambitious to say the least. It’ll be great if you can pull it off. You realise our beaches aren’t warm and sandy like yours back home, don’t you?” I do. I’ve only braved a beach here once, and honestly if you can’t feel the sand between your toes I don’t see the point.

“Did you get the ok from his PR?”

“I did. Well I think I did. He laughed. And Tom is coming in this afternoon to meet with you.”

“You’re awesome, Prue.”

“Becca,” she lowers her voice. “I don’t need to tell you, ‘Lion and Lace’ isn’t in great shape right now. We need a few good issues under our belt. We’re actually doing better in Australia than here, which is why I asked you to come at short notice. I don’t want to put the pressure on, but-”

“The pressure is on. I’ve seen the figures, hon. I understand. It’s a tough time to be a variety magazine. How long do you need me?”

“Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for two weeks?”

“Two weeks is a piece of cake. Stop worrying, we’ll sort it out. Get this issue out, and we’ll go from there. Everything is under control back home.” The Sydney office is managed by yours truly, when I’m not focused on photography and writing. I could probably be a one-woman-publication-operation at this point; if we went six months between issues.

“Thanks, lovely.” Rachel knocks gingerly on the door and brings in coffees, and at this point I could graciously accept both of them. “How’s things at home?” Prue asks when we’re alone.

“Good,” I shrug.

“Be a little more succinct? For someone with a way with words…”

“It’s good. Everything’s just good. Great. We’re sort of trying for a baby.”

“Well that’s fantastic news! Isn’t it?”

“Yeah… it’s been six months. I mean we haven’t been seriously trying, but we haven’t done anything to prevent it. I guess Nathan thought it would’ve magically happened by now, he’s getting a bit frustrated and wants me to start tracking cycles and all that nonsense.”

“I’m guessing you don’t?”

“I’ll be happy if it happens, but I have enough in my calendar. How about you, what’s going on with you?”

“Actually, Henry’s been talking about getting married.” She says with a coy grin. I’ve met Henry, and he’s such a charmer. Old school, almost looks like Daniel Craig without the body. And just as smooth.

“Oooh. Now that is exciting!”

“No proposal yet, but I think he’s testing the water. One can only hope.”

“Grumpy Mcbitchypants is getting married,” I sing. She’s about to kick me out of her office.

“All right you, enough. Go work out how you’re going to convince Tom Hiddleston to get in the freezing cold sea.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m going to use one of your funky urban beaches and give him a bucket and spade. That’s artistic, right?” I’ve not actually met Tom, but I know he’s tall and lanky. The mere idea of him sitting in the sand with toys sounds brilliant to me. What I lack in originality I hope to make up for in plain old ridiculousness.

* * *

“Rach, can you set up the small meeting room in half an hour, please?” I’m starting to get my little nervous buzz, the one that I always get when I have to ask a client to do something a bit out of the ordinary. It increases exponentially with their level of celebrity, so asking Tom Hiddleston to do this just about has me vibrating out of my seat.

“Sure thing. Something to drink?”

“Um… coffee for me, but I assume he’ll want tea. What is it with you lot and tea?”

“What is it with you and caffeinated sludge?”

“Point taken. How about we’ll ask when he’s here. I’m just going to call Nathan before he goes to bed.”

“Hey honey,” Nathan says with a yawn. I cringe, I meant to call him this morning.

“Sorry. I’d have called earlier but it’s pretty hectic over here.”

“It’s all good, I was waiting. So how long this time?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“Becca…” he groans. He hates me being away at the best of times, and although I understand I also find it a bit frustrating. I’ve done this since we’ve been serious, long before we moved in together, and it’s not going to change overnight.

“Nath, I’m sorry. This is what I do.”

“When am I going to come first, though. What’s going to happen when you’re pregnant? And afterwards, when you’re not there, are they going to make you responsible when it folds?”

“I’ve told you before, this is the kind of thing I can do from home part time with a baby-”

“And I’ve told you before I don’t want that.” He doesn’t have the vision of it that I do. I have a sprawling home office (I don’t now, but it’s a future vision), with a mini nursery set up in the corner. And a baby who just happily plays while I work. Sounds like a piece of cake to me.

“I don’t want to talk about this now. Please? I just called to say I love you and I miss you and tell you goodnight. If I get pregnant we’ll work it out, ok?”

“If?” Well done, Bec. Good word choice.

“When. Fuck. I don’t have time for this right now.”

“And that is exactly the problem. If you don’t have time to get-”

“If you say the p word once more I’m hanging up. Nathan, right now we have me and you. And I love you, I miss you. I can’t do anything about the other thing until I get home, and then we will, ok? I promise.”

A long, sad sigh comes through the phone, and I want to reach through it and give him a big bear hug. My big tough boy is nothing but a softie, and he knows how much I miss him. “All right. I love you, too. And I miss you like crazy, I can’t wait for you to come home to me.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, ok?”

“OK. Night.”

I curse quietly and put the phone down on my temporary desk and rub the back of my neck, snapping my head up when I hear Rachel clear her throat from the doorway.

“You ok?”

“Yep. What’s up?”

“Mr Hiddleston is waiting for you in the meeting room. He’s having tea, I’ll bring coffee for you… you’re going to need your professional face for this one.”

“I always have my professional face, Rach.”

“Bring a backup then,” she fans her face dramatically and I can’t help but laugh.

“Mr Hiddleston,” I extend my hand as I come through the door and immediately have to aim it higher. Damn, he’s really tall.

“Gosh. Tom, please. Rebecca, right?”

“Just Becca is fine. It’s great to meet you. Have a seat, please. Rachel will be back in a moment with your tea. I have some ideas to discuss with you.” I smile sweetly, the same smile I give Rach when I ask her to go get coffee from down the street.

The photographer in me sits up and begins taking mental notes. This man is just… stunning. Adonis-like. He has cheekbones you could slice a steak with, and his jawline is strong and masculine. It sort of reminds me of the animated Hercules jaw, all square and angled. He has a fair covering of blond stubble around his jaw and chin and just a little less under his classic, elegant nose. His teeth are perfect, his lips are thin but full enough; they’re pink and a little chapped and I can tell he licks them often. Right on cue his tongue darts over them and I have to hide a little smirk.

All of these beautifully angled, masculine features are balanced out by his hair. It’s severely short on the back and sides, but the top is dark blond and curly. I’m pretty sure he’s made an effort to have it sit straight but then he’s run his hands through it a few times and those persistent curls slowly return, refusing to be tamed. It’s the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through. And then let them tangle in it a bit and give it a firm yank in a moment of unbridled passion… whoops. I digress.

“Sounds interesting.” He says, his eyebrows giving him an inquisitive expression. I didn’t even get to his eyes, or his eyebrows. His eyes are quite literally like the ocean on a clear day, and that’s me trying not to wax poetic about them. I dare not look any further than that, for two reasons. One; it’s creepy to stare too hard at someone’s eyes, no matter how beautiful they are. And two; I worry that they might be like the Hypnotoad and I’ll be completely at his mercy until he releases me. Even then I might cluck like a chicken every time I hear the word breast. It’s just not worth the risk, they’re THAT deep.

I spread out a few pages from the folder I’ve brought in. “So you’re on a bit of a break right now?”

“Yeah. It feels a bit strange not filming or promoting anything, but it’s great having some time at home. Sometimes I forget I have a home.”

“All of these are dependent on what you think, I don’t expect you to do anything you’re not keen on. You’re doing us a huge favour doing this shoot when you’re officially off duty.”

“It’s my pleasure. I actually like doing random stuff where there’s no agenda, when I’m not obligated to stick to a particular topic.”

“You might not be saying that in a minute,” I laugh nervously. “While I was doing some research I read some answers you gave in interviews that really stuck in my head. One was how you learn lines by walking in the park, listening to yourself and talking to the trees and wildlife.” I lay a few sketches and photos out on the table between us, watching his expression. To my surprise a joyful grin spreads across his face. “So I was thinking you, park, squirrels.”

“I bloody love it.”

“Sweet. Keep that in mind.”

“I’m not going to be so keen on the other idea, am I?”

“Just… keep an open mind. The other was how you are inspired by feeling insignificant. The mountains, the ocean. As there aren’t any actual beaches or mountains in London I was thinking we go for an urban beach kind of ‘doing the best with what’s available’ kind of vibe?”

I put out some more sheets of paper and Tom laughs. “Deck chair, sand, kiddie float. What’s not to love? Looks like fun.”

“There’s a catch if you want to keep away from the public and get the best light. Park at sunrise, beach at sunset. We can do it over a few days, though.”

“Ok, whatever is easiest for you. You wanted to do a write-up as well?”

“A short one, yes. I thought we could combine the two if I just record the shoots. Are you sure you’re ok with all of this?”

“Of course! Like I said, random and no agenda is my favourite kind!”

He sips his tea and I have to tear my eyes away from his hands. His hands are as beautiful as his face, all masculine and veiny and huge, with impossibly long fingers.

“So um, my style is probably not what you’re used to. I only use natural light if I can help it-”

“That must be easy in Australia.”

I blink. “I didn’t tell you I was from Australia, did I?”

“No, but your accent did. Sorry, I interrupted. It’s not what I’m used to, it will be a nice change.”

“If I can manage it. I also don’t use much makeup, I’d rather see any imperfections than hide them under concealer. But, if there’s anything you want covered or edited out, just let me know.”

“Can you make my nose smaller and my jaw a little more square?”

I frown and tilt my head. Surely he’s joking, he has to be. His face is dead serious, though.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “I’m joking. Makeup isn’t my thing any more than photoshopping. The look on your face, though.”

“God you actually had me. Anyway. I’m here for two weeks, so you can choose the day if you like.”

“Why don’t we start tomorrow and if the weather holds up we might get both in? Otherwise I’m flexible.”

“Sounds good. Are you happy to wear your own clothes?”

“Uh… if you tell me exactly what you want.”

“What you’re wearing now is good, just jeans and a tshirt and jacket. Would you mind if I bring a suit as well? I wouldn’t ask you to wear one of yours in the park or the sand.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Actually I have one that’s ready for retirement, I’ll bring it. So you’re just here for two weeks and then back to Australia? Where are you based?”

“Yes. I live in Sydney and we have an office there. We have a whole separate issue that goes out in Australia although we share a lot of features.”

“Lion and Lace is certainly an interesting name for a magazine. I’ve looked through your website, you cover the most diverse range of topics I’ve seen in a while.”

“It’s certainly a bit out of the ordinary. The name came from Prue, our editor. No particular meaning, it just popped into her head.”

“Do you have a family back home?”

“You mean kids? No. Just a boyfriend, and my extended family.”

“Are you here often? That must be tough on your relationship?”

I huff before I can catch myself and then blush as I hastily clear my throat. “A little. This is what I love doing, though. I started out over here before Prue offered me the job of running the Australian office and I love visiting London. Honestly I don’t think I’d say no if she asked me to stay a few months. Sydney will always be home, but London is the next best thing.”

After a few moments’ thoughtful silence I laugh softly. “This is a bit awkward, I’ve done so much reading about you the last couple of days I feel like I know all about you. And as this is just an informal meeting I don’t want to ask you interview questions.”

“Are you kidding? If you start me talking I’ll never stop, ask away.”

“What do you do in your time off?”

“This time I’ve done a lot of reading, mostly relating to things I have coming up. Watched a lot of films and caught up on some television. Gosh I sound really boring. In my defence I’m only a couple of weeks into it.”

“Sounds like heaven to me.”

“Well, yes. But I get the feeling you like to be busy, too. You’d go mad if you didn’t have so much to do.”

I blush again. “Nailed it.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Um, why don’t I give you my card in case you need to call me. To reschedule or ask anything. And I’ll see you in the morning. St James park is ok?”

“Absolutely, it’s only a few minutes from me.” He stands up with a kind of grace that looks like reverse origami. “I’ll see you in the morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

I get everything organised for the morning, wonder how I’m going to get it all to the park and then pare it down to absolute essentials. While I eat dinner in the cafe my phone vibrates on the table and it’s a text from a number I don’t recognise. **  
**

> _Hi Becca, I wanted you to have my number just in case. Hope you’re having a lovely evening, see you in the morning. :) Tom._

I smile in spite of myself and tuck it away in my bag. I guess having Tom Hiddleston’s mobile number means I need to keep it locked in a vault or handcuffed to me at all times?

When the too-shrill-to-ignore alarm wakes me at 4:45am I’m disappointed to hear rain. Stretching out of bed like an eighty year old, I peek out between the curtains and see nothing but fluffy great clouds. The bastard things look like they’re laughing at me, and I swear the radar image on my phone does the same in a swirly abstract sort of way. It’s set in for at least a few hours. I scroll through my contacts for the only number without a name assigned to it – can’t be too careful. For the record, I have other celebrity phone numbers in my phone, although Tom’s is definitely the biggest name I can think of. The others have clever pseudonyms like Charlie Morgan or Uppity Bob Snr, but I haven’t thought of one for Tom yet. For obvious security reasons I can’t disclose who the above numbers belong to. I’d have to kill you.

> _I really hope I’m not waking you, obviously you’ve seen the weather. Maybe we can try tomorrow? Becca_

Just as my head is reunited with the pillow I’m considering an affair with, the phone buzzes on the nightstand.

> _Not at all. Yes I’ve seen it, I’m out running in it. Is your camera waterproof?_

He can’t be serious.

> _Yes, actually. Why?_

A little nervous flutter happens in my stomach when I see his reply, and I’m suddenly wide awake.

> _I’m game if you are ;)_

Tom is easy enough to find, even wearing a grey shirt and jeans in the dreary light. Stood under a tree with a large umbrella, his face has the expression you might expect on a child who’s been taken to the park purely to splash in the puddles. It is in that moment he earns his cover name in my contact list: Puddles. He immediately runs over and takes the waterproof case of camera gear from me, hands me the umbrella, and runs back to the tree.

“This is madness. I’m going to be hanged for leaving Tom Hiddleston with pneumonia.”

“Ehehehe no you won’t. If you’re not up for it-”

“I’m totally up for it. I’m not sure we’re going to get cooperative squirrels in this, though. I’d settle for ducks.”

“Plenty of those about,” he says. He points to the pond and I see the ducks all lined up on the edge with their feathers fluffed against the rain like little waterproof puffy coats.

“Ok. Let me get my gear setup and then we’ll go over that way. Do you think you could pretend to recite some Shakespeare to the birdlife?”

“I can do better than that,” he winks, and I don’t know whether to be worried or excited.

A few minutes later we are out in the rain with the ducks. Barefoot and with his jeans rolled up his shins, I have to laugh at the sigh of him. He almost looks like he’s outgrown his clothes, and come to think of it his shirt could definitely be a little longer. But then no one would see that delectable little strip between that and his pants; nor would he ‘accidentally’ show the world a glimpse of happy trail when he lifts his arms… Where was I?  

He’s begun a stirring rendition of the Henry V ‘once more unto the breach’ speech and I stand in awe. The shot is already framed, so that I only have to keep pressing the shutter and shift focus occasionally. I know we’ll only get one go at this, there’s no time for complex lighting position. I have to work with what I’ve got.

Within a few seconds and a little edible encouragement, Tom is encircled by ducks, pelicans and even a few squirrels who brave the wet grass to find out what the early morning fuss is about. A little golden light breaks through the clouds like a spotlight, and like a classic Disney scene the wildlife scattered before him appear to be listening and appreciating Tom’s performance.

I’m appreciating the whole scene, and at least 99% of that is professional. His grey t-shirt clings to his chest and abs, clearly showing every contour of muscle underneath the stretched fabric. Blonde curls tighten in his hair, some flattened slightly against his forehead and temples, the rest forming a delicious noodly tangle on the top of his head; I wonder if they are actually as soft and inviting as they look.

Tom’s blue eyes dance with passion as he nears the end of the speech, gesturing wildly even down on one knee and getting his jeans wet and muddy. At the mention of greyhounds he stands majestically, and some of the birds back off a little in surprise. By the time he gets to St George his arms and head were raised,  _that_  strip of skin on display between his shirt and pants, and the volume in his voice has risen enough that with the force of the words the most glorious retreat begins. All of the thirty or so ducks suddenly take flight together; the pelicans are split in their choice of quick escape with a few taking off like light aircraft while the rest simply waddle as fast as their ill-designed legs can manage; the twenty squirrels scatter in all directions, racing up the nearest tree or structure.

For a few moments all I can do was freeze in stunned silence, looking at Tom who seems to be suffering the same fate. A sudden increase in the rain breaks the trance and we run laughing back to the tree.

“That was incredible!” I exclaim, flicking through a few of the last shots. “Absolutely amazing.” Part of me is amazed that he can still remember that speech like he learned it yesterday when I can barely remember the plot of the novel I read last week.

“And a lot of fun,” Tom says, putting his boots back on.

As I pack the camera away, I look at Tom pulling his coat back on. He’s shivering, his hair is dripping all over his face and little rivulets are disappearing into his shirt. I’m sure I can see a bit of a blue tinge to his lips.

“Shit. Please let me get you something hot to warm you up?”

“I’ll just go home and change, I’ll be fine. Did you get any shots that will work?”

“Heaps. I can’t wait to show you.”

“Well like I said I’m not far, probably closer than you are. Why don’t we head in that direction and you can show me while I get out of these wet clothes.” He blushes and looks at the ground to compose himself. “I mean, er, after I get out of these. And into some dry ones.”

“Uh… yeah. Ok. I’ll even shout you a drink on the way.”

“No need. I have tea and coffee at home. Come on.”

He insists I take the umbrella and I’m glad it’s only a short walk. When I take off my coat I instantly regret the choice of light blue shirt as my hair has dripped down my collar and it’s soaked. I tug my coat back on and feel Tom’s eyes on me, a bemused grin no doubt curling his lip.

“Oh. I’ll just… uh… keep my coat on. Maybe I’ll take my shirt off and put my coat back… I’ll just keep my coat on.”

“How about I loan you a dry shirt?”

“Well that’s very kind Thomas but I don’t think we’re the same size.”

“I’m sure I can find something. Take your shirt off and get comfy, I’ll be… fuck.”

Hearing him curse and seeing him blush is the cutest thing, it’s like when you hear it from a toddler in perfect articulation and context. Swearing doesn’t worry me, Nathan tells me all the time I swear like a sailor when I think no one is listening, and he’s right. But from this tall English gentleman – with his Eton and Cambridge education and his infinite vocabulary and eloquence – it’s nice to know sometimes he can’t choose a better word than ‘fuck’.

“You’re doing really well with the words today.” I laugh. It’s nice to revel in someone else’s mortification for a few seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” his blue-tinted cheeks definitely have more pink in them now. “I’m going to find you something to wear. Then I’m going to find me something to wear, and you can show me the photos.”

Tom returns with a hoodie and put it on in the kitchen while the kettle is boiling. It’s soft and warm and it smells clean very faintly of detergent. Naturally it’s huge on me, and for a moment I feel horribly homesick for Nathan and the security of his hoodies that I can tuck my knees into. Finally both in dry clothes we sit on the couch and I load the SD card from the camera into Tom’s laptop.

“Keep in mind these are unedited and I took way more than I need,”

“Becca…” he breathes. “This is stunning.” It’s one of the last shots, with Tom framed on the left side and the scattering wildlife filling the rest.

“I’m certainly glad you talked me into doing it in the rain. Maybe you should come and work for me.” I smile, and I mean it. If I could afford him, I’d hire him to drag me into the unknown occasionally. For a moment our eyes lock, and his eyes are so blue I have the exact Hypnotoad moment I was trying to avoid.

“OK but next time you get to stand in the rain and look beautiful.”

I blush, hard as I try not to. I’m still recovering from the hypnosis and he catches me off guard. “I think we’ll leave that job to you.”

I glance at my watch while he goes through the remaining photos, it’s not quite 7am and this has to be the weirdest day of my life. I’m proofing photos while still sitting next to the client, and I’m wearing his clothes because we voluntarily did the whole shoot in the rain. I feel the need to assume crash position for fear of what might happen the rest of the day.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Tom. They’re amazing shots.”

“Honestly, it was my pleasure. I haven’t had that much fun in a photoshoot in a long time.” He finishes his tea and sets down the cup. “Can I offer you some breakfast?”

“You don’t want to buy me dinner first?”

Shit. Settle down, where did that come from?

“Uh…”

“Sorry. No, thank you. I need to get back to the hotel and shower before I go to the office.” I hurriedly pack my things in my bag. I’m feeling like I need to get away. Now. “I won’t put you through a wet sand experience today, maybe we can try that tomorrow. I’ve probably got enough here, anyway.”

“I’m happy to do the other one, too. I’d like to.”

“OK. We’ll sort it out later?”

“I hope so.”

“Thank you again, I know you said you had fun, but what you did for me this morning most people wouldn’t even consider. It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, like I said it was fun. Even more fun when your photographer is as lovely as you.”

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow if it’s sunny.”

* * *

“Good morning, Rach,” I say on the way past her desk.

“Good morning. Good grief woman, if you drink that whole coffee you’ll be bouncing off the walls into next week. It’s huge!”

“I’m going to need it, believe me. I have had the weirdest morning. Got some great shots, though.”

“I thought you’d cancel it with the rain.”

“So did I, but Thomas Puddleduck had other ideas. I’ll have some to show you in a while. Prue in yet?”

“No, about half an hour.”

“Good, that will give me a chance to be ready.”

The smile doesn’t leave my face as I go through the shots again. A normal first pass means discarding at least half, usually more. Out of almost 100 photos I have only discarded five after two attempts. Every single image has earned its place in the cut with a unique expression, a tiny idiosyncrasy in Tom’s face or posture. A raindrop catches the sunlight and casts a tiny perfect rainbow, Tom locks eyes with a pelican and its expression has softened from threat assessment to genuine interest.

I can’t deal with this many images, so I take a different approach and choose the five that stand out when I put them all up on the screen. Those I edit immediately, and a further 80 go into a folder marked for processing at some later date when I have the time.

Prue knocks and opens the door, finding me halfway through the bucket of coffee and gives me a weird look.

“Don’t tell me you went out in this weather?”

“Not only that, I have some amazing pictures to show you.” She walks around the desk and gasps at the screen.

“Wow.”

“I know. Not only was it the most fun, and the most I’ve laughed, it was the easiest shoot I’ve ever done. I’m convinced he has his own lighting following him wherever he goes.”

“You know what they say. Perhaps the sun really does shine out his ass.”

“Ha! I don’t think we need the other shots, I’m about to call-”

My phone is buzzing itself along the desk. One day it will jump suicidally off the edge and I’ll wonder how I didn’t see it coming.

“Speak of the devil. Hello, Tom.”

“You were talking about me?”

“Looking at you, too. What’s up?”

“The sun is coming out and it looks like it will be fine the rest of the day.”

“Actually I was just talking to Prue and I don’t think we need anything further. The shots we got this morning are perfect.”

“Oh.” He sounds deflated. “Do you still have questions for me?”

“Yes. We can do that over the phone if you like?”

“I have a better idea if you’re up for something different. Meet me outside your office at three and bring your camera just in case.”

“Ok. I’ll see you then.”

I set the phone back down and then move it as far from the edge as possible, and I can feel Prue’s questioning eyebrows bore into the back of my head.

“I’ll be out from three o’clock and then back in the morning. I’ll get this finished up tomorrow if that’s ok?”

“Of course.”

“I should call Nathan before it gets too late over there unless you need anything else. I’ll put the images up for you to look at when they’re done.”

After another draining conversation with Nathan, a quick lunch eaten in the middle of a finance meeting with Prue, and a little too much coffee, I am buzzing. Three o’clock ticks over right as I get out the front doors and I silently congratulate myself on not being late; punctuality isn’t something that comes naturally. Or at all, really.

Looking each way down the street I search for Tom, who I have no doubt is always punctual, idly wondering what he might be wearing and what he’s planning. A car pulls up in front and the sleek black shape completely obstructs my view. And then Tom is standing in front of me, holding the passenger door open.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re not abducting me or something are you?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Becca? Get in. I promise it will be worth the risk.”

I melt into the forgiving leather seat, warmth radiating from it spreads over my back and thighs. I look over as he folds down into the other side and closes the door, shooting me a devilish grin.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You talked about the ocean and mountains, how I feel inspired there and you went from that to a sandpit in the middle of London. Which by the way would have been hilarious.”

“Uh huh.”

“I thought I’d do one better and show you one of my favourite spots.” He smiles over at me when we stop at a red light.

“Tom… that’s amazing. I feel honoured.”

He shrugs like he does this for every random media person who asks him for a favour. “You wanted some insight into the real me, what I do when I’m at home.”

“So where are we going?”

“Are you always so demandingly inquisitive?”

“Yes,”

He laughs and I am entranced by the sound. It is a warm, genuine, nothing-held-back laugh that you can’t help but join in on.

After a few seconds I turn to him and he is still grinning. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Mmmm, nope.”

“I knew you weren’t as nice as people said.”

Another laugh. I’m fairly certain if he’d been around that laugh could have brought down the Berlin wall, and probably ended a few other major conflicts.


	3. Chapter 3

Half an hour outside the city I am completely lost. He could be driving me to my death and I’d be none the wiser. “I hear you’re very close to your family?” I ask to break the silence. **  
**

“I am, yeah. Very close. We don’t see as much of Sarah as we’d like but Skype is great. When I’m home I see them a few times a week. Are you close to your family?”

“I thought I was doing the interviewing here?”

“Tit for tat.”

“Can I quote that?” I laugh and I wonder if he’s deliberately flirtatious or if it’s a genuine accident. “Kind of. We’re close, but we’re scattered all over the country. One brother and his family are up north and another went west-”

Tom snorts. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. That was ridiculously inappropriate.” He clears his throat. “Did you mean, um…”

“Literally, geographically west. Not figuratively.” Sam, my brother, would find this hilarious, especially given he’s been happily married for five years to a woman.

“Sorry. Please continue.”

“That’s about it. My parents are divorced. Mum is in Sydney not far from us, and dad is in Melbourne so we don’t see much of him, either. What’s that look for?” Tom is stifling a laugh again.

“Was it something you said?”

“Ha ha. Do you do this with everyone you’ve just met?”

“No, oddly enough. Especially when they’re writing about me. You just have an effect on me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Lucky me.”

“Tell me about your boyfriend.”

“Do I have to?” I sigh. He’s caught me off guard again and I really shouldn’t have said that. “Sorry. We had a bit of a disagreement earlier. His name is Nathan, we’re the same age, went to high school together and have been on and off since. We’ve lived together for two years, he works for the tax office.”

“So very soon there will be marriage and little tiny Beccas?”

“No marriage,” he raises his eyebrows, compelling me to give him more even though I don’t feel like it. I get a bit tired of explaining and usually just say something flippant, but Tom seems to have a way of dragging the truth from me. “He has a sister who can’t marry her female partner, so until gay marriage is legal in Australia that’s his little protest. Either way… My turn. Tit for tat. Love life, go.”

Tom laughs heartily. “There’s nothing to tell, honestly. I don’t have one. I wish I did, but it’s just too difficult.”

“Tom, there must be something. No man can seriously-”

“Oh, hell no. You want that information you’ll have to buy me dinner and a bottle of whisky. And then get me very very drunk.”

He winks, and the seat is now uncomfortably hot under my butt. Looking out the window I see the coastline passing and for the second time today I get a kick of homesickness right in the gut. At least I think it’s homesick I’m feeling, I don’t even visit the beach all that often back home. When I do it’s always been an intimate affair, just Nathan and I at dusk or dawn while we’re on holidays. Then again I’m used to soft sand and warm water. Finally Tom pulls the car into a park and magically appears to open the door before I can remove my seatbelt.

Frozen salty air slaps my face and wind whips through my curly hair, and I take Tom’s proffered hand to stand out of the car. We crunch down to the beach in silence.

“I know it doesn’t compare to the beaches you’re used to.” Tom says.

I turn and take in the view, on one side the ocean with its whipped white peaks as far as I can see. Cargo ships dot the horizon, rolling with the rise and fall of the swell, shrunk by distance so that they look like toys in a child’s bath. To the other side the chalk cliffs rise from the sand like huge green and white peppermint candies, and now I’m craving something minty.

“I can see why you’d feel insignificant,” I say, taking in the salty smell and the gentle sound of the waves through the whistling wind. We are completely alone and it’s isolating and sort of freeing in a way I don’t really understand.

“So, you want pictures?”

“Um… yeah. Can we try leaning on the rocks?” I take a few shots and frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Too posed. Can you crouch down and put one hand in the sand?” I take some photos at his level and then lay down in the sand and shoot up at his face, just catching the top of the cliff behind him. He looks down at me, and the intensity in his stare is quite something. I’m relieved there’s a camera between us.

“Comfy down there?” His lips curl into a smile.

“Not at all. Stop smiling. Look pensive or something.”

“Is this what you think I do? Crouch and let the sand run through my fingers, stare blankly at the ocean and contemplate my existence?”

“Isn’t it?”

Tom laughs and pulls me roughly to my feet. He toes off his shoes and walks toward the water. “Tom! It’s freezing!”

“I know. That’s the point. You chicken?”

“I’m just taking the photos. Knock yourself out.”

With his hands stuffed in his pockets Tom wades through the ankle-deep water and I follow a few paces behind. I have the camera pointed at him, finger on the shutter, but I’m not looking through the viewfinder. The way he moves, even when he’s just walking through the water, is just mesmerising. It’s not even a sexual thing, I’m not in awe of how tight his ass is (although…), he just moves like a dancer and it’s beautiful to watch. Out of nowhere the low sun creates a glow around him and the next few shots all I catch is his silhouette. I am now convinced of two things; one: it really is impossible to take a bad picture of him; and two: he travels with his own lighting that may or may not literally shine out of his ass.

While I’m checking the last few shots something catches the corner of my eye and suddenly he’s bounding out into the deeper water. I bring the camera back up just in time for him to dive forward and splash into the gentle waves.

My mouth is gaping but I’m still holding the shutter button as he shakes his hair and drops of water fly in all directions. I’m reminded of Sandy – the golden retriever we had as children. He used to run into the surf in the middle of winter and then violently shake off the freezing water. If dogs could curse, Sandy would have done it regularly.

Tom reinforces the analogy by running back up the beach toward me, panting and licking the salt water from his lips. “I hope to god you got that, because I’m not doing it again!”

“I did. You’re crazy. That’s going to be my tagline. Tom Hiddleston: clinically insane.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, darling. Did you get what you need?”

“Absolutely.”

“Race you to the car, then.”

“Well that’s not fair, I…” he’s already running toward the car, and I can’t resist a few more shots of the awkwardness. Running in wet jeans isn’t easy.

When I finally get back to the car Tom is leaning on it and looking at his watch, trying to hide his shivers.

“Becca, that was astonishingly terrible. You didn’t even try.”

“What can I say, I excel at energy conservation. What do I win?”

He moves in behind me, I can feel him blocking the last stray sunlight while I put the camera away in the back of the car. When I turn he’s so close I’m frozen to the spot, I can feel his warm breath on my cold skin and salty water drips from his hair onto my shoulder. He’s  _that_  close. His eyes burn into me, all blue and stormy, and something in my mind tries to set off an alarm but it’s lost in the blood rushing in my ears. He leans even further forward and I’m sure his lips graze my ear. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I wonder if he can feel it.

“A hug,” he whispers, and he’s pressed against me. For a moment I have no idea what’s happening, and then I feel wet. Not *that* kind of wet, the kind where Tom’s soaking wet clothing is being wrung into mine. He’s dripping into my hair, and every part of me that’s touching him is as cold and wet as he is, like someone just held me out like a plank and dipped my front into the ocean.

I squeal and squirm, the harder I struggle the tighter he pulls me against him and he’s as hard and unmoving as a bloody rock. Finally he yields and releases me, laughing and tossing me the same hoodie I wore this morning. I look around and see we are still alone, slipping quickly out of my wet shirt and into the hoodie with my back to Tom.

While I pull it down and untuck my hair from the collar I can feel his eyes on me. I turn and he quickly looks back to the car, picking up a beach towel. His top half is naked and I find it a chore to divert my eyes even though I’ve seen plenty of men’s chests before. Nathan sleeps naked, and he’s pretty buff. He might be the only man I’ve had sex with but I’ve photographed enough half naked men to not stare when presented with one. They’re a dime a dozen, and this one’s nothing special.

He’s caught me staring at his chest and is staring back at my face, I meet his eyes and want to drown. Not in his ocean-on-a-clear-day eyes, but in the actual ocean. It would be less painful than suffering the smirk he’s giving me right now.

“Would you like a hand?” I square my shoulders and clear my throat. “I can hold the towel.”

I hear his belt rattle behind me, I’ve had the sense to face away from him so I couldn’t look if I wanted to. Not that I would want to, and I wouldn’t even if I could.

“Becca?” He says loudly. “I’m done?” He’s looking at me like he’s repeating himself and holding his hand out for the towel to wrap up his wet clothes.

I pick up the keys and start the car, turning on the warmers in the seats and settling into the passenger side. The sun is almost set now and the wind is cold, I’m glad we got done when we did. Tom sits in his seat and frowns a little then smiles. “Toasty,” he laughs.

“I find there’s nothing more comforting than a warm ass after a dip in the freezing cold ocean. You don’t do that every time, do you?”

“Ehehe no. That was just for you.”

I check my phone as he pulls out of the car park, not really paying attention to where he’s going. “Well, Lion and Lace is indebted to you, sir. If those photos don’t sell us a few extra copies nothing will.”

“You’re most welcome. Are you hungry? I know it’s a bit early for dinner but there’s an amazing fish and chip place not far from here.”

I hesitate and I’m not sure why, for a few moments I wonder if I’m crossing some sort of line that I’m not seeing. We take clients out for meals all the time, this isn’t any different just because it’s a more casual meal and I’m wearing his clothes. Right? I shake it off, it’s almost six and by the time we get back I’ll be starving. I’m still craving mint after seeing the chalk cliffs.

“Sounds great.”

Rugged up in a blanket each, eating fish and chips on Broadstairs pier with Tom Hiddleston is a surreal experience.

“You don’t ever do this?” He asks.

“Ummm, no.” I laugh. “In summer, maybe”

“Why?”

“Because the sensible adults are indoors,”

“Sensible schmensible.”

“I’m quoting that.”

He laughs his warm contagious laugh again, and I’m suddenly not in any hurry to go home. Eventually I can no longer feel my fingertips and we’re on the road back to London, my eyes drooping in the warmth of the car as the scenery speeds by the window in a blur.

“Becca,” There’s a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder. “Becca? Darling, wake up.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’ve had a big couple of days. We’re at your hotel.”

“If you come up I’ll change my shirt and give yours back. Or I can bring it back down if you want to wait here.”

“I can come up. Or you can hold on to it.”

“You must be in a hurry to get home, I’ve taken up most of your day.”

“I’m really not. I’ll come up.”

“Do you want to see some of the raw shots?” I ask from behind the wardrobe door.

“I’d love to,” when I come back Tom is on the couch, all folded down like it’s child sized. I decide to let him spread out a bit and take the floor in front.

“Tom, I swear when you were made you got an extra dose of photogenic. You’re a photographer’s dream.” I say when we’ve seen them all.

He chuckles, all modesty and English gentleman. “I don’t think so, but it’s lovely for you to say.” He rubs the stubble on his chin thoughtfully and then shakes his shoulders. “I should go, you look like you need some sleep.”

“Ok. I’ll call you tomorrow when I have something to show you. Or I could just email it to you.”

“Either is fine. Or Both. Becca… I had a really great time today.” He smiles and I can’t help but smile back, he just has one of those smiles.

“I did too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He pulls me into an unexpected hug and I have to put his firm chest and spicy scent to the back of my mind. “I thought I owed you a dry one,” he laughs as he opens the door.

After pacing the room for a while I have a long hot shower, slip into bed in a tshirt and call Nathan.

“Hey honey,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“Laying in bed thinking about you,”

“Oh, really? It’s a shame I’m at work then, isn’t it?”

“Come on, Nath. Please?”

“Becca, I’m at work. No. You’ll have to take care of it yourself. Although I find it funny you always have a better libido when you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Ugh. I love you, too, Nathan. Good night.”

For the record, I do not have a better libido when I’m away, it just feels that way because our times are so out of sync. I do have hormones, and I have needs, and we’ve done this plenty of times before. Before sex was purely for making a baby, not for pleasure. Sometimes I let myself hope that I’ll fall pregnant soon just so we can go back to that and take the pressure off.

I hang up and kick my feet under the covers in frustration, my good mood gone. I punch the pillow with a tightly balled fist and then lay awake for two hours, tossing and turning and wondering if I have any wine left.

Eventually my hand snakes itself down over my hot prickly skin and it finds my sex – which like the song feels literally on fire. A soft moan escapes my lips and I bite down, close my eyes and think of Nathan’s big strong hands, the way they touch me and the way his lips feel on my skin. God it feels like forever since he kissed me all over, since he held me close and made love to me slowly and left love bites all over my throat.

I know where to touch and how to bring myself off quickly and easily, and when orgasm pulses through me it’s Tom’s name in my head, Tom’s weight I’m imagining on me. Through the pleasure is a touch of regret at letting my fantasies run away with me, and then a deep sense of guilt.

My thoughts quickly turn back to Nathan as a tear trickles from my eye and I curl myself around the spare pillow. I wish he was here, with his big teddy bear body wrapped around mine, telling me how he loves me and misses me too. I ache for his long, slow kisses and I make a mental note to get more of them when we’re together again. 


	4. Chapter 4

As the day drags on I find it increasingly difficult to avoid thinking about Tom, and editing pictures of his far-too-pretty face isn’t helping. By the afternoon I’m onto my third – possibly fourth – large coffee and as I’m stretching upward in front of the office window there’s a knock on the door. **  
**

“Hi,” Tom says. He looks different. I’d almost say shy but that wouldn’t make sense.

“Tom, hi.”

“Sorry to just wander in, Rachel said it was ok.”

“Of course it’s ok, I was just…”

“Inventing a new yoga pose?”

“I call it the waker upper.” Conveniently timed yawn. “It’s a work in progress.”

“You didn’t sleep well?”

“I’m fine. I have the article to show you,” I sit down at my desk and pull a chair around for Tom.

“While I’m here, I’ve been meaning to ask you. I need some new headshots done, would you be interested?”

“You know what, I’d love to. I need to know if you make portraits as easy as you do natural shots.”

I keep quiet while he reads my article, occasionally chuckling and giving the page a coy smile before he hands it back. “You flatter me.”

“It’s all true.”

“When do you think I can see you again?”

“What?”

“For the headshots.”

“Oh! Um, can I get back to you? I need to talk to Prue and see what she has planned.”

“Sure.”

* * *

I groan into the pillow, frustrated that even on a Saturday I can not sleep longer than 7am. It’s infuriating and I reach for my phone to complain to Nathan.

“Hey honey,”

He laughs on the other end. “I know what you want.” At least he’s in a better mood this time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say playfully.

“Well didn’t you call at the right time, sweet pea. I’m home, I’m alone, and I’m hard.”

“It’s almost like you were waiting,” I say, shrugging out of my pajama shirt.

“I was feeling a bit guilty for leaving you hanging the other day, I guessed you’d be pretty desperate by Saturday morning.”

Bless his cotton socks, my big boof. He honestly thinks I wouldn’t get off without him. A little knot of guilt twists my stomach over on itself when I remember how my thoughts ended with Tom.

“Desperate, wet and begging. Are you going to help me out this time?”

Twenty minutes later I’m panting and sweaty, the room is filled with heavy breathing and I spread out between the soft sheets with a lazy smile.

“So, how are you?” I ask Nathan.

“Better now,” he slurs.

I laugh softly. “I miss you so much, Nath. I can’t wait to come home to you. I love you, I hate being away from you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

“I don’t want you to not feel good. I did have my hopes up, though.”

“You really want this, huh?”

“I really do. I’ve wanted to be a dad for so long, and I’ve always known it would be with you. I think I’ve got the whole biological clock thing going, ticking away.”

“What’s the rush, though?”

“Like I said, I’ve just wanted it for such a long time. I’ve been dreaming about us having children since we were teenagers.”

“Nathan… what if I can’t?”

“Don’t say that. There’s heaps of options.”

“I just worry about disappointing you if something’s wrong or it’s not as easy as you hoped.”

“Stop worrying, Becca. Everything is fine, and I love you. Just get stuff done and come home so we can make babies.”

“Baby, Nath. Singular. One at a time, thanks.”

“We’ll see.”

“I love you. I miss you and I wish you were here with me.”

“Me too. What are you going to do today?”

“I have absolutely no idea. But I’m in the middle of London and the sun is shining. I’ll find something.”

* * *

On Monday morning I’m responding to some emails from Sydney when Prue knocks on the door. “You know fashionably late doesn’t apply to variety magazines, right?” I say without looking up.

“Oh, you’re just jealous,” she sits in the chair opposite me and I know something is… weird. She’s in such a good mood its radiating across the desk.

“Of what?” I scoff. I really want to know, but at the same time it’s fun to yank her chain occasionally. And there’s only one thing I can think of that would have her this happy and late for work.

“I don’t know… the huge rock on my finger perhaps?”

“Sounds painful,” I say dryly. Inside I’m jumping up and down with excitement, and I look over at Prue. She has her face resting very un-casually on her left hand, a diamond ring sparkling on her finger. “Good grief, it’s a wonder you can lift your hand!”

She holds it out so I can admire the ring, it’s clear and sparkles under the light, one solitaire diamond on a white gold band.

“Congratulations, love. It’s beautiful.” I stand up and pull her into a tight hug, she’s so excited I think I can feel her vibrating against me.

“You’re next,”  

“Not bloody likely,”

“What is going on with you and Nathan? Are you a bit hot and cold or is it just me?”

“Prue, we’re on opposite sides of the world. It’s difficult to be much of anything. We’re fine. You and I have talked about this, marriage is not on the cards for us.”

“Then you can live vicariously through mine. By force, if necessary.”

“Yay… Seriously, hon. I’m really really happy for you.”

“I’ll tell you the whole story later, I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Do you mind if I do some portraits for Tom? Just headshots.”

“Of course, how long do you need?”

“A couple of hours. Late afternoon I think.”

“Just choose a day and put it in your calendar. I’ll see you for lunch.”

My phone is doing it’s tragic little dance across the table again. “Were your ears burning?”

“No,” Nathan says. “Why?”

“Prue and I were just talking about you. She and Henry are getting married.”

“Good for them. How are you feeling?”

“Good, why?”

“I guess I was hoping you’d be feeling something by now. Nausea, bloating… something.”

“Have you turned into one of those crazy men who tracks their partners cycle?”

“I would if you’d let me,”

“Nathan, there are some secrets us girls prefer to keep,” I laugh, although I’m completely serious. “No, honey. Nothing. Sorry. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I can’t wait to have you home.”

“I know.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds.

“How did your shoot go? All finished?”

“That one, yeah. It went so well he wants me to do some extra portraits for him.”

“Wow.”

“Didn’t I send the final copy to you? Hold on I’ll forward it.”

“Who is this guy again?”

“He played Loki in Thor… and lots of other roles you won’t have heard of. He’s a pretty big deal, amazing talent. Dream to work with, too.”

“Shit, Becca. Those photos are beautiful.”

“I know.”

“You went to the beach?”

“Haha yep. That was without doubt the strangest day of my life. Park in the rain, freezing cold beach in the afternoon.”

“Sounds like fun, must be nice to do that for work.”

“You’re forgetting I had to get up before five to do all of that. And get soaked twice.”

“Doesn’t sound like you minded too much.” Here we go. Pack your bags, we’re going on a guilt trip. I’m allowed to love my job, as long as it doesn’t take me away from home. I’m allowed to be away from home, as long as I don’t enjoy it. I can’t have both, apparently. Of all the things I hate about being away for work, this is top of the list.

“It’s work, Nath. I love what I do. How was your day?”

“Not as exciting as yours,”

“If you’re just going to snap at me I have work to do.”

“Go do it then. Don’t let me get in the way.”

“Nathan…”

“I love you, Becca. Go do some work and I’ll talk to you later.”

He hangs up before I can respond and I let my head fall back against the chair.

“You ok?”

I snap my head forward and almost jump out of the chair. “Shit, Rach. You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Seriously, are you ok?”

“Yeah, just… yeah. I’m good. What’s up?”

“Tom called for you while you were on the phone, he’d like you to call back when you can.”

“Thanks, Rach.”

I stand up and try to physically shake off some of the nervous energy that’s making my skin crawl, then open the reports Prue has asked me to look over. I don’t look up until Rachel knocks on the door again.

“Are you busy?”

“Yeah, actually. Can it wait?”

She cups her hand next to her mouth as though she’s about to let me in on a national secret, and half yells half whispers “It’s Tom!”

To be honest, I’m a tiny bit annoyed. I really am right in the middle of trying to cut costs and I don’t have time to chat. But Tom has been good to us, and I realise I’ve been focused on the same spreadsheet for more than three hours.

“Send him in, Rach.”

Tom is leaning in the doorway and the sun from the window behind him makes his hair glow like it’s on fire. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No, I got carried away with work. I didn’t realise you were so needy.” I smile and he lets out a little laugh before he hands me a coffee cup. “If you’re going to bring me coffee you’ll always be my top priority. I’ll give you a key to the building.”

“I had an inkling you’d be busy and need one of those. I was just in the area and thought I’d say hi, I won’t keep you.”

He’s gone back to leaning in the doorway and I gesture for him to have a seat, mostly because looking up at him makes my neck hurt.

“Please keep me,”

The words are out of my mouth before I can filter them, or put in an appropriate pause, and a smirk of amusement curls Tom’s lips when I clap a hand over my mouth. “Distract me, I mean. From what I was doing.”

He laughs and scratches the stubble on his jaw. “Why is it, do you suppose, that two ordinarily articulate people continually stumble over expression in each other’s presence?”

“You smell. It’s your smell.”

“Huh?” The look he gives me is one of absolute horror, as though I just said Shakespeare never existed.

“Your cologne. It makes my brain short circuit.”

“What’s my excuse?”

“Hmm. You’re a bumbling idiot?”

Tom laughs and finally sits down. “I love how you never censor yourself. It’s refreshing when people are usually so careful about choosing their words when I’m around.”

“Oh, this is me choosing carefully. I curse a lot more without the censor.”

“Me too.”

“So I have permission to do your headshots. Any afternoon you like, just choose a day and a place.”

“How about my house, day after tomorrow?”

“Perfect. You’ll need to supply clothing but I’ll bring the rest.”

“I’m… going to keep my mouth closed so my foot doesn’t end up in it. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

* * *

I’m tapping my foot impatiently in Prue’s office. It’s a terrible habit, and I know it probably drives everyone around me crazy, but I tap. I can’t help it. Mum always said I had my own rhythm.

Finally she puts down the receiver and apologises. “So here’s the thing, Becca. We’re sinking. Rapidly. I need to downsize here, now. This week.”

That knot is tightening in my stomach again, but this time it’s not guilt. “Oh, ok.”

“I hate doing this. Every single person that works for me is like family. But I don’t know what else to do. If you can stay a few more weeks, I could really use your help.”

I release my breath, actually I open my mouth to speak and it just falls out with a sort of whoosh. I didn’t realise I was holding it. “I thought you were firing me,” I whisper.

Prue laughs. “Fuck, no. But I have to let some people go. Two at least, maybe three. I can take care of graphics and layout, you’ve got the rest covered. Maybe an extra part timer and we can outsource additional images.”

“We said we’d never do that.”

“I know, but we can’t cover half the world with one person. There’s only so many places you can be at once.”

“Are you asking me to work from London? Permanently?”

“No, just until I work out how we’ll manage it. Maybe we hire another you. What I’m asking you to do is stay another few weeks and help me work through the restructure. I know you want to get home to Nathan, but-”

“Of course I’ll stay. As long as you need. Everything in Sydney is under control, Emma has a good handle on it and she’s checking in daily.”

“God, this sucks. I feel like such a failure.”

“You haven’t failed anyone, hon. It’s a tough time, the whole industry is brutal right now. Even the big publications are struggling and folding. I mean it, as long as you need and whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Bec. You’re doing Tom’s shoot this afternoon?”

“Yeah. I’ll go look over where we can cut back and get back to you in the morning. You ok?”

“I’ll be fine. Grumpy McBitchypants isn’t supposed to care about her employees.”

“Underneath those pants she’s just a big softie, though. Don’t be afraid to let that show, Prue.”

I send a text to Nathan while I get my kit ready for Tom and then catch it just before it jiggles off the desk. I need to do something about that.

“What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

“Your message woke me. What’s wrong?”

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to tell him I’m staying longer. And I don’t want to lie and say I’m disappointed, because I’m not. And I’m not sure what that means.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to ring me until morning. Prue has asked me to stay a bit longer.”

I assume the crash position and brace for impact. “How much longer?”

“A few weeks,”

“Becca, this was supposed to be one assignment. Fuck!”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. She really needs me.”

“And what about me? I need you, Bec. I need you here, not on the other side of the world.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“How about putting me first for once?”

“That’s not fair.”

“After this I want you to come home. For good. No more travelling.”

“I can’t promise that. You know I can’t.”

“Find another job, then.”

“Come on, Nath. You knew what you were getting into.”

“Yeah, but I thought when you said you loved me you meant it. And I thought when you moved in with me you’d actually want to be in our home with me.”

“That’s not fair,” I repeat it, because it’s not. I feel like a whiny five year old arguing with her parents, but it’s not fair. I’m so angry hot tears have welled in my eyes and when I try to wipe them away I get even more angry because there’s more right behind. “I do love you.”

“Just not as much as you love your job.”

I straighten myself and try to steady my voice. “I have to go,”

“Of course you do.”

I hear the click as he ends the call and sit in mildly stunned silence, still swatting at the stupid fat tears. I remember the first time Nathan had a dig about me putting my job first, just after he told me he wanted to try for a baby. In the shock of the moment I said yes, because when the man you love with all your heart, who you’ve loved for more than ten years and survived thick and thin with asks you something like that… you say yes and worry about the details later. What I didn’t know at the time was the details were already planned, our whole lives. At this point I don’t know if he wants a baby so I’ll give up my job or he wants me to give up my job so we can have a baby. And I’m not sure which is worse.

I freshen up in the bathroom and pray the red rings around my eyes are gone before I get to Tom’s house. With my hair tamed and makeup covering my blotchy red face I blow my nose one last time and then I’m running late.


	5. Chapter 5

I compose myself before Tom opens the door. “I’ve been here twice now, I know your address. I should expect some sort of untimely death in the next few days, huh?”

“I make exceptions for the pretty smart ones, you’re probably safe.”

“Phew. I was thinking I’d set you up in front of the bookshelves on a barstool.”

“Sounds kinky.”

I frown and rub my nose, the conversation with Nathan still too fresh. Honestly I just want to go back to my hotel and drown myself in alcohol, but that would be unprofessional and I’d end up sad and hungover.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop with the inappropriate comments. Like I said, there are very few people who don’t censor themselves around me and where I can let my guard down. That doesn’t give me the right, though, especially when you’re-”

“No, it’s fine.” I force a smile. “Please don’t. I could do with a laugh.”

“Oooh in that case, what do you call a psychic little person who has escaped from prison?”

I’m just in the right mood to tell him the answer, but he looks so impressed with himself I don’t have the heart to ruin his punchline.

“I don’t know,”

“A small medium at large.”

The pride on his face is too cute to hold back a giggle. “Ok, go get a stool and I’ll get the lights set up.”

Once Tom is seated and surrounded by softboxes, I take out my makeup kit and squirt a small amount of product on the back of my hand, mixing it with a large brush. “Go easy on the eyeliner,” Tom says with a smirk.

“Awww, spoil sport. I was going for a Jack Sparrow kind of look.” I apply the light foundation and refiner to Tom’s skin with the brush, consciously trying not to inhale his scent. “You shaved,” I say casually when I come to his jawline. The tiny red spots on his jaw tell me it’s very fresh and I have to resist the urge to feel the smoothness with my fingers.

“I did,” he says stiffly.

I wipe a mascara brush and ask him to look up at the bottle in my hand and instead he looks straight into my eyes, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. It’s almost impossible not to be distracted by his eyes, the way they flick from one of mine to the other with an intensity that makes me feel like he’s reading every thought in my mind. If there is a god, please make him stay away from the dirty ones. Please.

I clear my throat and he finally averts his eyes, looking down at his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“Becca, are you alright? Is everything ok?”

I’m a little taken aback by the question, and I wonder if he really did see straight into my soul just now.

“Of course. Why?”

“Your eyes are red.”

“It’s nothing, really. A bit tired I suppose.”

He looks sideways in mild disbelief but remains quiet.

I pick up my phone with the intention of using the light meter and Tom shifts around on the stool.

“I was forgetting you do this all the time. Poser.” He’s automatically assumed the perfect portrait pose, which somehow manages to look natural and be ridiculously uncomfortable at the same time. He laughs quietly and looks down at his hands again.

A message is waiting on the lock screen of my phone, and although I have no intention of reading it right now my fingers have taken over and I open it.

> _I’m beginning to think you don’t want this to work out, Becca. We should be able to discuss this and you should have talked to me before you agreed to it. Call me, I’m up._

With a sigh much louder than I intend I take a test shot of Tom and my phone buzzes along the table again. Honestly at this point I wish it would just jump and be done with it. Compassion be damned.

“Are you sure everything’s alright, darling? You seem a little distracted.”

“Perfect,” I try to smile and it probably looks more like a snarl. “You really are a photographer’s dream, Tom. I’ll switch the phone off in a second, I’m sorry.”

“Becca,” he stands up and moves toward me and I suddenly feel very close to tears. “If you have something you need to take care of we can do this another time.”

“No, honestly I’m fine.” I swallow hard and look away. “Just let me send a quick text and I’ll turn it off.”

“Take your time. Can I get anything for you?”

“No, thank you.”

> _I can’t talk now, get some sleep and call me later. I’ll wait up._

His reply is immediate and snarky and now I feel close to tears and so tired I could sleep for a month.. 

> _Of course you can’t, your precious work comes first. Always too busy for us. Don’t bother, I might as well talk to myself anyway. You’ve made your choice._

I switch it off without replying again, hoping if I don’t feed his anger I’ll feel empowered or something. All I get is tears prickling the back of my eyes.

“Could I quickly use your bathroom before we begin?”

“Of course,”

I will them not to fall until I’m behind the closed door and I cover my face with shaking hands, leaning back against the door. After a minute or so I turn on the tap and wash my puffy blotched face.

When I return he gives me a little sympathetic frown and opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again.

“Ok. Now don’t smile. Serious first.”

He gives me his best cheesy grin and then relaxes his face, devoiding it of all expression. I am in awe of the emotion he portrays in his face with so little external effort. He gives me his best blue steel stare straight down the lens and even with the camera between us I get goosebumps.

I flick through the photos to make sure we’ve covered everything.

“Now you can smile if you want.”

As always, when Tom smiles everything is right with the world. The slight crinkles in the corners of his lovely eyes tell the world how he loves to smile and laugh, his thin pink lips giving the sense of a mischief bubbling away in the back of his mind.

“We’re done, unless there’s another position you had in mind?”

Tom raises an eyebrow and I actually feel a little lighter.

“You know what I meant, pervert.”

“I think you’ve covered everything. Can I offer you a cuppa?”

“God, yes. Please.”

He busies himself in the kitchen and I can hear him singing away to himself while I pack up. We sit down on the couch with tea and biscuits.

“I’ll edit them for you tonight so you should have proofs tomorrow.”

“There’s no rush,”

“I don’t have anything better to do. There are worse ways I could spend my evening than staring at your pretty face. Ahem. On a computer screen while I’m editing, of course.”

“Allow me to apologise in advance. I hear the novelty wears off pretty quickly.”

Once we start talking time passes quickly and we take on a pretty diverse range of topics; cheese, romantic comedies, beer, sharks and everything in between. In a moment of silence Tom’s stomach rumbles loudly and he groans in embarrassment. Between his stomach and his cute little embarrassed face I double over with laughter.

“Why don’t I get us some dinner and then I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t need to do either of those things, Tom.”

“Honestly… I really like spending time with you. It’s not often I meet someone who isn’t afraid to tell me exactly what they think right off the bat, or who isn’t a bit uncomfortable in my presence. It’s refreshing. Also, getting takeaway pizza just for me is a bit pathetic. Having you here is a perfect excuse.”

“Well, when you put it like that… ok.”

He orders on his phone while we carry on the conversation, which naturally goes from pizza to Peter Dinklage. The segue is flawless. “How do you feel about Game of Thrones?”

“Love it. Haven’t seen the new ones yet.”

“Great, you can answer all of my annoying questions and I won’t have to worry that you’ll miss something. I’m only in the middle of season two.”

“What, do you live under a rock? Ok, ok. One episode and then I have to go. And you only get twenty questions, after that I’m cutting you off.”

Three episodes later the clock is rapidly approaching midnight and I’m no longer hiding my yawns. “Surely that was a better way to spend the evening?” Tom says, stretching his arms above his head.

“I suppose,” Becca said. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.” We sit in silence for a few seconds and he draws a deep breath. “Becca, I have something to confess, and I wouldn’t normally do anything in this situation but I just feel utterly compelled to be honest with you. I find myself terribly attracted to you, drawn to you no matter how I try to pull away. I make excuses to see you, and you occupy an inordinate portion of my thoughts when I’m alone.”

“Tom-”

“I am so horribly ashamed to admit this, I’m ashamed to even feel it. The harder I try to ignore it – to push it away, bury it, forget about it – the more it grows. I don’t expect you to reciprocate, I don’t expect anything. I almost hope that by telling you the power of it will be gone.” He turns and smiles, looking me in the eye for the first time and I immediately look away because I genuinely feat what I might do if I don’t. “I’m so sorry, I know this isn’t what you want to hear.”

“You don’t know that.” I say softly.

“Please look at me.”

He reaches for my chin and after a little encouragement I look into his eyes. How dare they be so blue and clear and certain in their desire?

Our eyes remain locked and I catch his tongue flicking over his smooth pink lips, I wonder how those lips might feel against mine, how his tongue might feel on my skin. I’m deluding myself that the thought is just innocent curiousity, and in my exhausted and emotional state my brain accepts the rationalisation. I reach my hand out to his cheek, and his skin is just as soft as I imagined, just as his lips are soft under the light graze of my thumb. It hovers there for a moment and I can feel his breath quicken, his weight shift closer until our thighs touch. Tom covers my hand with his long fingers and leans his face closer, hesitating when our noses almost connect.

I see Tom’s gaze rest on my lips, and I can almost see the turmoil in his mind. I know it’s there, because he’s hesitating even though I know he so desperately wants to kiss me. I know because it’s happening in my mind, too. I shouldn’t, I can’t, it’s wrong. My eyes fall closed, because if he’s going to pull away I don’t want to watch, but I can feel myself drawn closer and I can feel his warm sweet breath on my face and his thought-disrupting scent in my head. The sound of my own heartbeat is so deafening I’m surprised I can hear anything else, but I do.

“Rebecca.” He breathes my name and it’s like a plea, a prayer and a curse all at once. It pulls me in and the distance between us is closed.

And then those beautiful soft lips are kissing mine.


	6. Chapter 6

I can feel his warm sweet breath on my face and his thought-disrupting scent in my head. The sound of my own heartbeat is so deafening I’m surprised I can hear anything else, but I do.

“Rebecca.” He breathes my name and it’s like a plea, a prayer and a curse all at once. It pulls me in and the distance between us is closed.

And then those beautiful soft lips are kissing mine. 

My heart is about to leap out of my chest and into Tom’s, I’m sure he must be able to hear it. And then everything stops, nothing outside of our bodies exists. Tom’s soft, warm, open mouth easily covers mine and for a few seconds we are frozen, afraid to move for fear the other might put an end to the assignation. I lean into him and bring my other hand to the back of his neck, pulling him against me in wordless permission. He moves his long fingers along my jaw, sliding them into the side of my hair while his mouth closes over mine, sucking sweetly on my bottom lip before he opens to engulf me all over again.

I’m dizzy and spinning, lost in his scent and his warmth and his taste, the delicate touch of his fingers ghosting over my skin. I feel him pull back and I draw him closer, flicking my tongue lightly over his lips and I’m sure I hear a tiny moan escape his throat. Our tongues dance a slow Bolero and Tom’s fingers drift over the skin of my neck, covering my spine in tingly goosebumps.

After a few minutes fingers still and tongues slow and the outside world starts to seep back in. I don’t want to break the kiss, I don’t want it to end, I don’t want to deal with the fallout or forget the perfection that is his glorious sweet mouth. Tom rests his forehead on mine and I keep my eyes closed while I lick my swollen lips. My hand is still on his neck, his fingers still in my hair, and I wonder if I just hold on how long I can keep him right there.

“I should take you home,” he whispers, and I’d really like to gag him. “It’s late and you have work tomorrow.”

There’s nothing for it but to nod and stand up on my legs, which I’m not sure are going to support me.

He packs my gear into the car and the ride back to my hotel is silent and just a little awkward. When we’re almost there the magnitude of the evening dawns on me and a few silent tears fall down my cheeks in the darkness. When Tom pulls into a space outside the hotel I’m surprised that he shuts off the engine. He turns to me and puts a gentle hand on my leg.

“I feel like I should say something, but I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry. Becca?”

He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over my knuckles. His hands are warm and soft, strong but gentle, and I’m staring out the window trying to lose myself in the sensation.

“Darling, please say something.”

I rub my eyes and look down at our joined hands and shake my head.

“What’s- I mean I know what’s wrong, but… I am sorry, I should never have put you in this position. Please don’t cry.”

“You didn’t, my relationship isn’t your responsibility, Tom. I should be sorry, dragging you into this when I have nothing to offer you.”

“Becca, what I said… I can control my impulses, I assure you. We can. It was improper of me to say anything,-”

“Everything you said, I feel it too. I am drawn to you, Tom. You seem to have your own gravitational pull and no matter how hard I try I can’t ignore my attraction to you.”

“What about Na-”

“Don’t, Tom. Please don’t say his name.” I’m not angry, I just can’t hear it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “Can I walk you up?”

I shake my head, not trusting my self control that far. “I’ll let you know when your proofs are ready.”

I get out of the car before Tom can open the door, and he helps me get my gear out of the back. He opens his arms and I instinctively go to him, letting him embrace me close to his chest. The cashmere of his sweater is the softest thing I’ve felt in my life and with his gentle breathing I just want to snuggle in and never let go. My hands rest on his firm pecs and I raise one to wipe my eyes. “Take care, Becca.” He says into the top of my head with a kiss.

He holds my shoulders and pushes back and bends so I have to meet his eyes and wipes my cheeks with his thumbs.

With no words left I walk heavily to the foyer and the safety of the elevator, knowing he’ll wait until I’m out of sight. If I look back I will run to his arms, and everything will be ok for a few minutes before it falls apart. So I don’t. It kills me, but I don’t look back.

I don’t deserve comfort. I had one argument with Nathan and went running to someone else, and now I have to live with it. I am a despicable, horrible human being who just had the most amazing kiss of her life. And I don’t even get to enjoy it, because I don’t deserve to.

I sink into the couch and watch my phone boot up and the screen fill with messages from Nathan. Oh, my sweet precious Nathan. I know he hasn’t done anything wrong, he just loves me and wants me to be around more.

I go from quiet tears to ugly sobbing as I read through his increasingly frustrated messages, through the angry ones and onto the worry and hurt that I hadn’t called and my phone was off. I call him and he answers immediately.

“Becca? What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, Nath. I’m so sorry. I turned it off because I didn’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“You’re in luck because I’m so angry I can’t even speak to you right now.”

“That’s ok, I just wanted you to know I’m ok. Can you call me when you’re ready to talk?”

“If I’m ready to talk, one day, sure.”

He hangs up and I flop onto the bed. I can’t be bothered with pajamas, so I kick off my shoes and cocoon myself in the fluffy pillows and covers.

* * *

Prue bounces into the office and I’m already into my third coffee. I’m about to buzz right out of my own skin.

“I thought I was early. How long have you been here?” Her voice changes when I look up and she sees my puffy eyes. No amount of makeup or cucumbers could have fixed those bastards today. I think they’ll hang around for a week at least.

“Since seven. I have some ideas for you when you’re ready.”

“You look like hell, sweetie.”

“I had a fight with Nathan, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ok. My office, half an hour, you can show me your stuff.”

I nod and send a quick text to let Tom know his proofs are ready and I can see him at lunch if he’s not busy. I’ve made up my mind what to do and I need to do it today before the whole situation gets out of hand.

“How did you get this done so quickly? Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Not really, but that’s not the point. So, we have to lose Rachel. One person can cover graphics and layout part time with you picking up the excess. That also means we can downsize the office space. You can outsource the photos or for roughly the same cost over a year you can hire a photographer and writer and have them both part time in sort of a job share. This would see us making a profit now, regardless of sales picking up. I have two guys back in Sydney who are fantastic with the digital side, we get one of them working for you and I think it will make a huge difference. And there’s no reason we can’t sell our photos to other publications since everyone seems to be outsourcing now. We don’t have as many as the big guys, but what we do have is worth marketing and getting our name out there.”

Prue looks thoughtfully over the proposal.

“Why didn’t you sleep?”

“Prue, please. I can’t right now. I need to work. If I don’t keep my mind busy I’ll fall asleep.”

“Ok. I love it. Actually, I hate it because it means firing people. But your ideas are brilliant. I should probably get Rachel in this afternoon and give her fair warning.”

“I’m not looking forward to letting people go. There’s no other way, though. I’ll put out some feelers and see if there are any similar positions available, you could do the same.”

“I’ll do that. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not today.”

“Alright. While I have you there’s an event at the Barbican I’d like you to be at next week. Nothing huge, but there will be some names there. Get some pictures, write an article. You know the drill.”

“Ok. Send me the details and I’ll be there.”

“It’s on Tuesday night, I’ll email you the info. I want you gone at lunchtime today, go and get some sleep. No arguments.”

“Yes boss.”

* * *

“How did you get it done so soon? Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Funny, you’re the second person to ask me that today.”

“Becca… are you alright?”

“The next person to ask me that gets a punch in the face. I’m running on adrenaline, Tom. If I stop I won’t get started again.”

“Ok. Sorry.”

I hand him two sheets of proofs and a DVD. “All of the images are on this disk - both raw and edited. Please, please don’t use them for anything other than headshots and don’t put them on the internet. They’re not watermarked, because I trust you and I wanted you to be able to use them as you wish.”

“Thank you. That’s incredibly generous.”

I sit down on the couch and sip my tea. Instead of warming me it burns my mouth and I wonder if it’s too early for karma. Tom sets down the photos and disk near the door and sits beside me, lifting his cup from the coffee table. “They’re perfect, Bec. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I turn to face him and clear my throat. As though I didn’t cry enough last night I’ve been on the verge of tears all day, although there can’t possibly be any water left in my body with the amount of coffee I’ve had today.

“I’m going back to Australia,” I blurt out. “I think it’s the best thing I can do right now.”

Tom nods, and a small part of me wants him to protest. But that’s not his style, and if he did he wouldn’t be Tom.

“I know if I stay here, I can’t stay away. I won’t. I love Nathan, and I owe it to him to do whatever it takes.”

“I’m sorry it came to this, Becca. I truly enjoy your company, and I will miss you. But the truth is I wouldn’t be able to keep my distance, I just can’t pull myself away from you.” He takes a drink and bites his lip. “I’m not this guy, I want you to know that. I would never, ever interfere in someone else’s relationship and I am utterly ashamed of my behaviour last night. But at the same time I’ve never felt like this before, it’s like I have no control.”

“I know, it’s not your fault.” And it isn’t, it’s mine. All mine. And now I’m lying to your face because I’m such a weak sod.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight.”

My whole existence is being torn in two; on one hand I ache to reach out and touch him, feel the magic of his kiss again and the weight of him crush the life from me. And on the other I am desperate for him to leave before I crumble and admit I’m lying, I’m actually not going anywhere.

“Do you believe in alternate universes? Parallel dimensions?”

I stare blankly at him for a minute and then shrug wearily.

“Well I do, and I expect that in one of them we met in a time and place where we could be together.”

I meet his eyes and then look away. I know he won’t understand, and I hope he never finds out.

“I’ll go and let you pack. Would you consider keeping in touch by email or something? Let me know when you’re back in town and we can catch up?”

“Sure,” I lie, knowing I’ll never see him again and struggling with it being the best choice.

“Take care, ok?”

“I will, Tom. You too.” I stand to see him out and he pulls me roughly into a hug, pressing me hard against his chest. My shorter stature means my face is buried in his chest and I hold my breath until he releases me; if I inhale his scent I’ll be lost.


	7. Chapter 7

After the first day I stop staring at the phone and willing it to ring. On the second I mostly just snarl and hiss at it like a threatened cat. Finally on the third I reach the ‘pick it up and put it down again’ stage, sometimes I even dial Nathan’s number and then putting down or toss it onto the floor. I’ve taken to keeping it right on the edge of the desk, so that when it eventually does ring the deed will be done and I won’t have to suffer the unknown.

Monday morning, four days today. I can’t wait any longer and I send a text, knowing he probably won’t answer and I’ll be too busy to wait for it anyway.

[I love you, and I hope we can talk soon. x Becca]

I sigh as I scroll past ‘Puddles’ in my contact list and the same familiar weight drops into my stomach. I felt it yesterday when I saw a black Jag (I had no idea there were so many of them in Central London), when pictures of him cross my laptop screen, when I pass St James Park. If it continues I’m certain my centre of gravity will shift entirely to my feet and I’ll no longer be able to walk.

I hate myself for lying to him. I hate myself for lying to both of these lovely, sweet men. If Tom knew I was still so close by, and I knew that he knew… my relationship with Nathan wouldn’t stand a chance. It’s not that I trust myself not to go to him; I legitimately fear the look he’ll give me when he finds out I’m still here and I lied to his face. He’ll be disappointed and hurt, and honesty is so important to him that he wouldn’t be attracted to me anymore. My little web of lies is my insurance policy; if he ever finds out he’ll be too angry for anything untoward to happen between us.

“You’re early again this morning,” Rachel says from the door.

“Yeah I had a lot to do.” That’s not entirely true. I have a lot to escape, and I still can’t sleep. “How are you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Have a seat, honey.” I gesture to the chair across from the desk and sit next to her after closing the door. “We’ll find you something, I promise. Prue and I will help you, just ask.”

“Thanks, Bec. I knew we were in a bit of trouble, and I knew I wasn’t the most vital to the operation. Plenty of admin jobs around, I’ll be fine.”

“The way you’re handling this is a credit to you, honey. I mean it, if you need anything… you’re in an office full of writers. We can give you a resume that will jump out at anyone.”

Rachel laughs. “I’ll take you up on that. I’ve been meaning to ask you, are you doing ok? I know you’re run ragged now with the extra workload, and you don’t know when you’re going home. I accidently overheard your argument with Nathan last week.”

“Pfft. That was nothing.”

“So everything’s ok now?”

“Yes and no. It’s all a bit up in the air, but we’ll work it out. We always do.”

“If you need a shoulder or a chat, I have a whole lot of free time coming up.”

“I’m really sorry, Rach. I feel responsible, like I swooped in and wiped out half of the staff.”

“Better than us going broke and wiping out all of the staff. We’re good, Bec. I’ll miss working with you but if you’re going to be in London a lot more then we’ll hang out.”

“Count on it.”

My phone buzzes on the desk and I watch it inch closer to the edge. Rachel laughs and gives me a confused frown. “One day it’s going to throw itself off, I swear. I’m almost looking forward to it.”

[I love you, too. I’m not ready to talk yet.]

At least he answered. He’s alive and coherent.

“Prue has asked me to take you shopping tomorrow as my last job before I go.”

“Ok.” I blink. “Wait, what?”

“For the gala you’re going to tomorrow evening?”

“I’m a photographer, why do I need to shop? I’ll wear a suit.”

“No, we were invited so you’re representing Lion and Lace. You just happen to also be photographing.”

“She neglected to mention that.”

Late that afternoon we’ve finalised the restructure.

“So we’re decided? Keep Lana, offer her part time?”

“I think that’s the best option.”

Prue rubs her forehead. “I’ll break the news to them in the morning. I want you to take Rachel out for the day tomorrow. Get something to wear to the gala, go get your nails done, whatever else you want. Spoil her, she’s earned it.”

“I’m not sure a day shopping with me is spoiling her, but ok.”

9am, day five. Nathan and I have scarcely gone a day without speaking before, and never more than two. I need to know what he’s thinking, and my heart aches in my chest as I dial his number.

“Hey,” I say softly. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too. How are you?”

“Kind of miserable to be honest. How are you?”

“I don’t want to fight any more, Bec. I’m tired.”

“I don’t want to fight, either. Listen, I was thinking maybe you could come over here for a few days.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think I can do it anymore. Any of it.”

“Us?” My voice cracks and my heart begins to thump in my ears. No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

“Yeah,” Nathan whispers. “I can’t see a way through. Just out.”

“No…”

“Becca, I love you. But we want different things, we’re not on the same page anymore. I’m not even sure we’re reading the same book.”

“We can work this out, Nathan. I’ll come home.”

“You wouldn’t be happy, though. You don’t want to settle down right now and be tied to one place. And that’s ok.”

“I just want to be with you.”

“I know. Look, I’m hardly going to move out and move on before you come home. But I think it will save us both some pain if we just-”

“No. Please. I love you. I’ll try harder.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it is, Bec.”

“I can’t-” A knock on the door makes me look at my watch. Rachel is early. “Fuck. Rachel is here, I have to go.”  
“Give it a few days, and think about what you want. There’s no right or wrong, really think about it. What I want is to have you here by my side at least most of the time, to have my little family at home. That’s not where you’re at right now, and it’s ok. All we’re doing right now is hurting one another. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, alright?”

“Ok.” I sniff and wipe my face and I’m sure I look an absolute abomination when I open the door because Rachel just opens her arms and pulls me into a hug.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. “Just give me a minute.”

With makeup retouched and a smile plastered on my face, Rachel leads me out onto the street.

“We need to get you a dress,” Rachel says.

“Plenty of time for that. I’ve been ordered to spoil you. So, nails first. Then some shopping, and lunch, and more shopping. I need to be there for the red carpet at five.”

“Ooh, red carpet!”

“I’m a photographer, you goose.”

“Oh. Duh.” Rachel laughs, and then stops me so we’re facing. I don’t want to do this, I want to lose my mind in reckless spending and luxurious pampering and forget about the world for a while.

“If you want to talk, I’m here to listen. If you don’t, I won’t ask.”

“Thanks, hon. Just Nathan. It will work out.”

I very rarely shop, and even more rarely set foot in a nail salon. As it turns out, it is a far more pleasant experience than I expected.

“I could get used to this.” I say to Rachel, who is sitting in a massage chair next to me with her eyes closed.

With a dress and shoes sorted, we wander for a couple of hours after lunch and return the the hotel. I can see Rach doesn’t want to leave without giving me plenty of opportunity to talk and I keep asking her opinion since she has more style in her pinkie toe than I do in my body.

I shower and do my makeup, and sweep my thick chocolate curls into something resembling a messy bun, a few already falling around my face before I’m done pinning.

I zip up the dress and slip my pedicured feet into a pair of strapy black heels. The pleated skirt falls to my ankles in a wide and bold geographic print of blue, gold and white. The waist is cinched in with a belt and it makes me look very much the hourglass, with the top just covering my shoulders. The whole outfit covers the brief I gave her this morning: smart, a little sexy, and completely practical. Tick, tick, tick.

“Wow,” Rachel says. “If you were single-” she stops and a look of horror spreads across her face.

“It’s ok, I don’t really know what I am. Definitely not available, though.”

The gala is a low key affair, more of a C- or D-list party than I was used to covering in London. Then again, I’m not a guest at the more exclusive ones or they wouldn’t be exclusive. I’m relieved, the expectations on me are lower and I’m not in the mood for choosing from fifteen different forks to eat my entree. I choose a vantage point at the end of the short red carpet and get plenty of shots of the attendees as they make their way inside. Just as I’m looking at my watch and getting ready to go inside a heavily tinted black SUV pulls up. Give most of the others have come in their own vehicles, or in a large group, I wonder who the self important ass is.

And a familiar ridiculously tall man uncrumples himself from the back seat.

Fuck.

I wonder if I can escape now, and I try to hastily extracate myself from the crush of photographers. But of course, it’s Tom and everyone is rushing forward so I’m pressed against the rope at the front. I look down and hope he doesn’t see me, wishing I’d worn a wig or a moustache, perhaps a burlap sack on my head.

Naturally all of the others are dressed like regular photographers - in dark colours so they blend in. Because that’s what you want, your job is to be in the background and not get any attention. I’m wearing blue and gold and I stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.

The proverbial kangaroo’s balls.

The selfish bitch who lied to you and is now desperately trying to disappear.

He stands, he poses, he smiles, he charms. And then he sees me.

I give him a tiny, embarrassed, apologetic smile. And he gives me the look. The one I was dreading. The disappointed, betrayed, hurt, silent fury look.

He gives the crowd one more wave and smile, shoots me another look, and then he’s gone and I’m left feeling like the naughty dog who crapped all over his new rug.

I finally make my way inside and search for my phone in my purse to call Prue. I’m wondering if I can sneak out early without losing my job.

I feel more than see a large presence in front of me. I know it’s Tom, I can smell him. That delicious spicy scent that makes my brain short circuit and my heart skip a beat; and now it gives me a nauseating kick in the guts for good measure.

“Rebecca,” he says, his voice low and thick. He has a whiskey on the rocks in his hand and I have to fight the urge to take it from him and down it.

“Tom,” I say quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Please don’t make a scene. Just know that I’m sorry and I can explain.”

“I have no intention of making a scene, Rebecca,” the way he uses my full name makes it sound foreign to my own ears, like I’m either in serious trouble or doing something seriously good. “I plan on having a nice dinner with friends, and then you and I are going to talk.”

Only when he’s gone do I look up and release the breath I was holding. I’m going to need a drink. Perhaps a bottle.


	8. Chapter 8

I manage two bites of each course and a sip of wine before I feel queasy. You know it’s going to be a fun evening when you have to send back the most tender duck breast you’ve ever tasted. By the time my very rich chocolate dessert arrives I can’t even look at it without feeling nauseous and I’m ready for a quick getaway. I get a soft drink to ease my stomach, which makes it worse, and I make it to the beautifully ornate bathroom just in time to vomit up my ridiculously decadent four mouthfuls of dinner. It is quickly followed by everything else I’ve eaten today, and the obligatory carrots. 

What is it with carrots? 

Once I get to stomach lining I know I need to get out of there and go home to bed.

At this moment I want nothing more than to lie on the cool marble floor and die, and if I wasn’t worried about someone seeing me I probably would. While I lean over the sink and wash my face, hands and mouth I see a green-grey version of myself in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and my lips thin and dry and my skin is quite literally a greyish-green. 

It’s disturbing. 

At least my hair is still good.

I manage to walk slowly to the door without stumbling, and my tunnel vision is focused exclusively on getting my coat and bag and escaping the stifling room. Unfortunately I find a still mad and disappointed Thomas who has other ideas.

“There’s a car out front- whoa. Becca, are you alright?”

All I can do is shake my head. If I open my mouth I’ll vomit on his beautiful suit and his perfect shiny shoes.

“I’m taking you home. There’s a car out the front, the driver is expecting you. Get in, you’ll come back for me in a few minutes.”

I almost open my mouth to protest about him being so ashamed to be seen with me, but remember the vomit + suit + shoes = gross equation and instead just nod wearily. I let him take my arm and walk me outside.

In the fresh cool air I instantly feel a thousand times better. I greet the waiting driver, even managing a few words before I slide into the back of the car. I lean my head back and close my eyes while we navigate around the block only to return to the same place for Tom.

If I was in a better mood the whole thing would be hilarious.

Tom is sitting in the seat next to me with a gentle hand on my knee, the disappointed look has been temporarily replaced with concern. “What happened back there?” He asks.

“I don’t know, I guess I ate something funny. Or stress. I don’t know. I feel better being out of that stuffy room. Where are we going?”

“My house. You owe me an explanation.”

“You’re not worried you’ll end up with more than an explanation.”

“Oh, Becca,” he squeezes my knee and looks straight into my eyes. “I’m way too angry for that.”

“Oh.” Mission accomplished, then.

“You do look absolutely gorgeous, though.” He smiles and it’s not his warm-fuzzy-inducing smile, but it is genuine and it’s better than nothing.

We ride the rest of the way in silence and he goes immediately to the fridge and pours a glass of lemonade for me. I have to smile, it’s exactly what my mum always did for an upset stomach, and it’s what I would have chosen myself. I take a mouthful and freeze as it hits my stomach, waiting to see if I need to run for the bathroom again.

“Sip it, Bec. Jesus.”

“Thank you, I think I’m ok.”

We sit on the couch again and memories flood my mind. I shift and wish I was at home in bed.

“I lied to you,” I whisper.

“I guessed. Why?”

“I knew it would be easier. For both of us. I couldn’t come after you because you’d be angry – and clearly that worked – and you wouldn’t come after me because as far as you know I’m on the other side of the world. You said you couldn’t stay away, I did the only thing I could think of to save my relationship.”

“Ok, but… “ he turns to me and right when I’m expecting a lecture or raised voice, he smiles. “You’re kind of an idiot, but I can see your logic.”

“Turns out I shouldn’t have bothered. I don’t think I have a relationship to save.”

“What happened?”

I shrug and bite my lip. “We want different things.”

“When?”

“This morning. I think it’s over. He won’t officially do anything until I get back, but I don’t even know when that will be. If I don’t have Nathan to go home to I don’t want to go back.”

My lip starts to tremble and I jam it back between my teeth. I can feel Tom’s eyes on me but I refuse to look up.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have been so harsh if I’d known.”

“You weren’t to know, and I deserved it. I deserve what Nathan said about me never putting him first. Whatever I get at this point I brought upon myself.”

“No, Becca. Not at all.”

“I should go, I’m probably the last person you want to see right now.”

“You’re really not.”

“I should be.” I hide a sniff behind my hand.

“You really look like you could do with some company. We can watch a movie, or more Game of Thrones?”

I nod. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.

I fold my legs somewhat gracefully under myself and Tom brings me a glass of water. He’s watching Game of Thrones but I’m not paying attention, I’m finally stopping to process the conversation with Nathan. I find myself biting my thumb hard between my teeth, trying to rein in my emotions. I suddenly want very much to be back in Sydney, in his arms and telling him he’s a big selfish boof but I love him and if he wants me to be at home every night that’s what I’ll do.

“Bec? What’s wrong?”

Tears have spilled unnoticed onto my cheeks and as soon as I realise he’s watching me my lip trembles. I shake my head and turn away but he grabs my waist and twists me so my legs are draped over his with my side against his chest.

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling my head into his neck. Then he’s stroking my hair and rearranging my dress over my legs and my shoulders are shaking as I sob into his beautiful lavender shirt.

“Do you think sometimes love just isn’t enough? No matter how much two people love one another sometimes it just can’t work without at least one being miserable?” Tom frowns and tilts his head at me. “Nathan… he essentially said it was over but he wants to know what I want. I never had the heart to tell him that settling down with babies isn’t even on my radar yet. Lion and Lace is my baby, too. I’ve been with Prue since the beginning and I want to keep it going. I can’t manage two offices and a child, and I don’t want to. That’s really selfish of me, I know. But how much do you give to another person before you call it? We’ve both made so many sacrifices and compromises already, I think we’ll just keep grinding one another down.”

“I’m not sure I’m in the best position to answer that, but you’ve been together a long time. I do think sometimes you grow up and grow apart, realise you want such different things that there’s no way to reconcile them.”

“I think he’s realised that, I’m just a bit slow and stubborn.”

Tom rubs my back as the tears subside and I wonder how it’s possible to be so heartbroken over one man and so content in the arms of another at the same time. This can’t possibly be real, it doesn’t make any sense. I close my eyes and let his scent overwhelm me, let it short circuit my already fried brain and make my heart race. I can hear Tom’s heartbeat and steady breathing under my ear and it’s soothing, I close my eyes and wish the world would stop for a little while.

I hear Tom chuckling and realise everything is silent save for his voice vibrating under my ear.

“What happened?” I murmur without lifting my head.

“I was just listening to you snoring.”

“I was not.” I am mortified. And I don’t snore.

“Oh, you were. Teeny cute little snores, like a little puppy.”

“I think that’s my cue to go home.”

“I have a guest room, darling. It doesn’t have a bed, but you’re welcome to it.” He laughs. “Why don’t you take my bed and I’ll sleep out here.”

“No. I’ll take the couch. I’m really sorry, Tom. You’d still be at the party if it wasn’t for me.”

“Bec, you don’t get it. There’s nowhere I would rather be than here. With you.”

“Why?”

He shrugs and accompanies it with a tired sigh. “I don’t know, and I don’t think you can explain it either. But you make me inexplicably warm and fuzzy, and you feel nice in my arms.”

“At least you’re honest. And no, I can’t explain it either. I sure as hell don’t want to hang out with me right now, I can’t imagine why anyone else would.”

“Becca,” he leans back. “Look at me.”

I can’t. I shake my head. “If I see that disappointed look in your eyes again my heart will break, I can only handle two of those per day. And if I see my own feelings reflected back at me, I’ll be lost. I will drown in you and everything else will be over.”

“You won’t see the disappointed look.” He clears his throat and leans his head back on the couch. “When I thought you’d gone, I was so angry. Angry with myself, that I hadn’t fought harder or done something to make you stay. I’m more than just drawn to you, Becca, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re on my mind when I go to sleep, and when I wake up. You’re in my dreams, the empty chair at the table, the empty side of the bed, the empty space on my couch. I’m sorry if this is too much, and I know it will make it hurt more if you decide to go back, but I can’t just let you walk out of my life again with any doubt in your mind about my feelings.”

I finally look into his eyes, at first by accident but then I’m unable to look away. They’re clear and blue and glistening a little, and I don’t even know where to start. What I want is to make everything ok without anyone getting hurt, and that can’t happen. I give in to that look in his eyes and let myself sink into it, and then I’m lost and drowning and he’s all I can see.

I reach out to the side of his neck, stroking the stubble on his jaw with my thumb, and then move my face closer to let it drag over my cheek. It’s rough and scratchy and it’s real, and then my lips are searching for his, ghosting over his mouth.

I hold my breath, my lips are parted and my eyes are still on his, and my mind begins to race. Before I can form a complete thought his hand is on my neck and I’m straddling his hips, our tongues gliding against one another in a glorious dance, spilling out their secrets in perfect sync. Tom’s hand finds my thigh under my dress and squeezes, massaging with a firm confidence. When our lips part I can hear him breathing heavily in my ear as he kisses my cheek and then down my throat and I lean my head back, opening up to him.

“God, Becca,” he growls into my ear when I roll my hips over him. I can feel him hardening beneath me and we both still for a moment while our hands explore each other’s face. His beautiful eyes, the feature I love most and could never, will never, get enough of. The expression in them tells me more than his words, and right now they are dark and lidded, and I know…

I know where this is going, and I’m not powerless to stop it. This is not a runaway freight train, or a car crash where I’m merely a bystander. I am in control, and the clarity of my desire right in this moment makes me giddy. I fight to stop my eyes watering, I can’t look away from him but I can’t stop the tears.

I remember once reading about infidelity for an article, and the words didn’t really resonate with me until right this second.

_Physical betrayal happens sometimes when we’re lonely. It’s a mistake, it can be forgiven. Betrayal of the heart is out of our hands, and the heart has decided long before the opportunity for the physical presents itself._

“Darling? Talk to me.”

I shake my head and close my eyes, the tears break free and spill onto Tom’s shirt. “It’s nothing.” I lean toward him, my lips searching for his lips and instead finding a gentle hand.

“Talk to me.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

I hastily wipe my face and shake my head, rolling my hips over him again. With an agonised expression Tom lifts me by my waist back onto the couch and puts a pillow on his lap, patting it for me to lay down.

“I don’t want to talk, Tom.” I grumble. I feel embarrassed and rejected, and I don’t really understand what I’ve done to turn him off so quickly. Aside from the crying and the way I must look right now.

“Bec… you’re beautiful and there is nothing I want more right now than to kiss you and press your gorgeous body against mine. But I’m not going to do that while you’re crying.”

“Just ignore it, it will stop.”

Tom laughs. “Absolutely not. You don’t think it’s a bit off-putting? It’s like your body says yes but your tears say no. How can I keep going?”

“Fine.” I put my head down on the pillow, laying on my back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve been agonising over how I’ve hurt Nathan, by being unfaithful. It was just a kiss, I know that, but it felt much worse and until just now I didn’t realise why. From the first time I felt that connection with you - whether it was playing in the rain or eating fish and chips on the pier - that’s when I betrayed him. In my heart. My body’s just been waiting for an opportunity to catch up.”

Tom nods sincerely, wiping the fresh tears from my face and stroking my hair. I stifle a sob with my hand and take a deep breath to steady my voice.

“It didn’t end today, with Nathan. It ended last week, with me. And it’s over. It’s really over.”

And it’s then I remember the feeling that I was crossing a line when he asked me to get dinner on the way home from the beach, the one I didn’t understand at the time. 

I understand it now.


	9. Chapter 9

I don’t know how much time passed before I hear Tom whisper my name. “Are you awake?

“Yeah,” I whisper back.

“Come on, you need to sleep.”

He stands and tugs on my hands until I’m on my feet and I wrap my hands around his neck, drawing him down to kiss his mouth. His hands gather up my dress and slide over my thighs, lifting me and wrapping them around his waist. I kiss his neck as he carries me to the bedroom and puts me down.

Our mouths crash together again, tongues lashing against one another as our hands roam with renewed fervour and urgency. My fingers quickly unbutton Tom’s shirt and I slide my hands under the silky fabric to his back, my nails scraping lightly over his skin and making him shudder and groan into my mouth.

He breaks the kiss for a moment to unzip my dress, following it with light kisses down my spine and then slipping it off. Tom presses his body into mine and I can feel his desire to feel every inch of my skin at once. He kisses my jaw down my throat to my shoulder and licks over my clavicle while he unfastens my bra, and my head falls back as my hands trace the contours of his abs and ribs. My soft, full breasts rub against his chest as he tugs at my skin with his teeth and my nipples form hard pebbles in response.

“Oh my god,” I breathe when his hands find my breasts and he takes their weight, kneading gently, his thumbs flicking over my now painfully hardened buds. His hands trail down around my ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they make their way to my back. Tom’s hands are splayed out against my skin and I feel like they cover my entire bare back as he pulls me into him and his erection rubs on my hip. I arch into him and he chases my mouth, finally closing his lips over mine and rubbing our tongues together in a perfectly coordinated dance to the music of our breathy, wanton moans.

Tom lays me back on the bed and steps out of his pants, caging me in with his long limbs. His lips move down my neck to my breast and close over a pink peak, sucking it gently between his lips and I feel his tongue flick over it and moan loudly.

I move my leg between his, feeling his erection on my thigh now and I tangle my fingers in his soft curls, tugging roughly when I feel his teeth graze my nipple. “God, Tom. Please.”

I have no idea what exactly I’m begging for, but I need it. I need him, need him inside, his weight pressing me into the mattress as he presses himself into me and against my most intimate places. I reach down his spine and let my nails drag over his skin, digging them in just about his ass.

Tom’s hand begins moving south over my torso, circling my navel gently on the way, all the while holding my nipple in his warm wet mouth. When he reaches my panties he hooks a finger in the waistband and swiftly tugs them off, guiding my legs apart and teasing a finger between my folds. “Please touch me,” I whimper, feeling my sex already dripping and waiting for him. He releases my nipple and moves back up so our faces are level, looking straight into me as he slips a long finger deep inside. I clamp my teeth down on my lip and a tiny moan escapes as my eyes fall closed.

My hand finds his shaft and I open my eyes as I stroke his long length. Tom growls low in my ear and the vibration goes directly to my core as he adds another finger and circles my throbbing clit with his well lubricated hand. “Damn, Bec. I want to hear you.”

“Let me feel you, then.”

“Patience, darling.” He chuckles against my jaw. He kisses me deeply, hungrily as he thrusts his fingers inside and presses my bundle of nerves with his thumb. The combination has me spinning, almost immediately on the edge, and I buck my hips up to his hand while I stroke him slowly, feeling the veins throb in his shaft.

His tongue thrusts into my mouth in time with our stroking, synchronised movements. My moans grow louder until I don’t recognise my own voice, swallowed eagerly by Tom’s open mouth as I come apart around his deft fingers, spasming in double-time to his strokes and contracting from my core to my toes. He doesn’t stop there, he brings me down slowly with lingering kisses and long slow touches until I am back to earth, a quivering wreck beneath him. He leans up on his elbow next to me and smiles, and I think I see a little bit of pride.

“Holy fucking hell, Thomas,” I pant.

Tom chuckles as he rolls away for a moment to get a condom from the nightstand and something in my brain tries to fire off a thought. In my current state though, with the lack of blood flow to my brain, it quickly loses traction and I’m focused on rolling it down his long thick shaft.

He positions himself between my legs and my heart is pounding, anticipation coiling in my stomach. Finally he lets me feel his weight, taking what he can on toes and elbows while his arms wrap around to hold my back, pressing his body against me so that every available inch of skin is in contact. He rolls his hips and his length glides inside to the hilt with a satisfying grunt as though the air has been knocked from both of us simultaneously.

I keep one hand behind his neck, pulling his mouth to mine and kissing him as though my survival depends on having his breath in my lungs. The other hand alternates between rubbing the stubble on his jaw and tangling in his hair.

With our legs entwined and bodies pressed so close Tom’s movements are deep and slow, drawing out every moment and ensuring this was a night neither of us would ever forget. As I feel the familiar wave building inside I move my lips to his neck, his ear, his shoulder; nibbling and kissing and biting his skin. I feel him groan under my lips on his throat and my nails leave tiny half moon marks over his shoulder blades.

“God… Fuck, Rebecca… I want to hear you come undone. Come undone for me.”

With my mouth already so close to his ear, I stop biting back the primal moans that tear at my throat, stop kissing him to muffle the sound, and our combined cries of pleasure fill the room. I grip tight to his shoulders as an intense orgasm washes over me, feeling my juices spill out and over both of us and quaking with release. As I let go a steady stream of tears fall from my eyes, the last remaining emotions I had forced down earlier no longer held back.

I feel Tom explode and spill inside me, thrusting hard and deep and lifting my back off the bed as he does. He stills and kisses my mouth slow and soft, his tongue flicking gently over my lips.

He pushes back onto his forearms and strokes my face before he withdraws and lays down beside me, wiping my tears gently and rubbing his thumb over my swollen lips.

After a few minutes silence, he pulls me against him. “Bec, I know tomorrow you’re going to feel different about this. Please promise me that you’ll talk to me about whatever happens?”

I nod against him and snuggle into his strong, safe arms while he kisses my lips, nose, forehead and the top of my head, breathing in the scent of my hair. I fall asleep with his fingers lightly stroking up and down my spine and his scent filling my head.

* * *

A few seconds pass before I register where I am, who is wrapped so tight around me. Tom is soft and strong and warm and I wish I could just hide here in his bed forever. After a minute he groans behind me and nuzzles my neck.

“Good morning, Puddles.”

He chuckles in his low, gravelly morning voice. “Puddles?”

“I’ll explain later,” I sit up and pull on Tom’s lavender shirt. I have no idea what it is, but it feels like heaven against my skin. “I have to get to work.”

“Skip it,” he tugs on my hand and I flop back down onto the bed.

“I can’t, we just lost half of our staff.”

He’s already up and pulling on running shorts and a shirt. “I’ll drive you so you don’t have to do the walk of shame,” he grins. “Unless you want to save some water here first?” He waggles his eyebrows and then frowns. “I’m probably pushing my luck, huh?”

“A little bit.”

“Becca, you’re going to have to tell me if I’m going too fast. Or you need something, want something. You can talk to me, ok?”

“Ok.” I pull on my panties and bra then my dress and shoes. Looking in the mirror I wonder if this is the same smart looking woman that went to the gala, or just a hobo who stole her dress.

He pulls me against him and claims my mouth with one last kiss before we go, and it leaves me a bit breathless and wobbly.


	10. Chapter 10

Once dressed I call Prue and let her know I’ll be late and then sit stiffly on the couch. I have to call Nathan while he’s still up, it’s not fair to drag it out when I’ve made up my mind. **  
**

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey. Are you busy?”

“No, just about to go out with Adam. What’s up?”

“Uh… I’m not sure where to start. I think you were right.” My brain is going top speed and I’m stumbling over words, trying to choose the right ones. “I think maybe we’ve sort of outgrown each other.”

“I agree. I’m so sorry, Becca. I’m sorry I’ve tried to hold you back and pin you down and I haven’t respected what you wanted. This isn’t your fault, it just happened. Part of growing up together, I guess.” He sounds resigned and accepting and I can hear a little tremble in his voice.

“I’m going to arrange to have my stuff moved for you rather than you having to wait. I’ll put it in storage and sort it out when I get home.”

“I’ll pack it for you if you like, you can just get someone to pick it up.”

“Only if you don’t mind, I’d never ask you to do that.”

“It’s fine, I moved it all in here.” I don’t know if that’s a veiled stab or not. But he’s right, the day my lease ended I was stuck in a weather delay and he had to go over and collect most of my belongings himself.

“Anything that we bought together, if you need it keep it. I don’t know how long it will be before I come back. I trust you.”

“Ok.”

“I’m sorry, Nath. If I could change for you and keep us both happy you know I would.”

“I know you would. So would I.”

“I love you, Boof.”

“I love you too, Bub. I’ll let you know how I go.”

And then he’s gone, and I feel a little lighter. I could tell him about Tom, but what good would it do to hurt him further? If he feels like I do right now he doesn’t need the extra kick in the balls.

I take my time getting ready and head for the office, the euphoria of last night tempered by my conversation with Nathan. Ending a fifteen year relationship was never going to be easy and although I don’t feel like crying my heart is quite literally aching. If I was a fifty year old man I’d be seeking urgent medical attention.

By the time Prue and I are looking through photos and discussing my disaster at the gala I have pushed the thought to the dark depths of my brain. I decide not to tell her about Tom, mostly because I don’t want to talk about Nathan yet.

“You’re going to write this up today?”

“I hope to, otherwise I’ll do it in the morning. I need to do the final review on the Australian edition before it goes to print.”

“I had a quick look over it, they’re doing really well.”

“That team is a well-oiled machine, Prue. I can easily run the Sydney office from here with no dramas at all.”

“Would you do that permanently if I asked?”

“Huh?”

“Would you consider moving here? Would Nathan?”

God I have to get out of this without letting on, I just don’t feel like explaining it all today.

“Absolutely. Are you asking?”

“Just think about it. I thought Nathan hated the idea.”

“He does, he did. But… we’ll talk about it.”

“How’s that going to fit in with a baby though, were you planning on coming back soon after?”

“I um, let me think about it.”

* * *

Just over a week later I’m still thinking about it, and I sit and look out at the dreary London sky. Can I leave Australia behind permanently? Is that what I want, to be here all of the time with Tom? I can’t really factor him in to where I live because he’s away so much of the year anyway.

And as though someone, somewhere, is trying to tell me something, my silly suicidal phone finally buzzes itself off the desk. Thankfully it fails, it’s still ringing when I pick it up.

“Hello, darling.” Tom says in his super smooth deep voice. I feel woozy, and then I feel a bit nauseous.

“Hi, how’s your day going?”

“Lazy. Yours?”

“The opposite,” I laugh.

“I won’t keep you long, then. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Can I see you this evening?”

“Yes, mine or yours? Mine has room service, yours has a kitchen.”

“Room service might be a nice change.”

“I’ll be home at five, so any time after that.”

Tom arrives at 6:30 and half an hour later I find out he ordered room service on his way through. While we eat and drink I tell him about Prue’s proposition.

“Is that what you want? To be here permanently?”

“Honestly I don’t know. Maybe. Given that I’m currently homeless-”

“What?”

“Nathan is going to pack my stuff and put it in storage until I decide what to do.”

“I’m sorry, Becca. That can’t have been an easy conversation.”

“It was as easy as it could be I suppose. I won’t lie though, it hurts. It hurts a lot that we couldn’t make it work after all this time.” I look up at Tom as he’s looking at me thoughtfully with just the hint of a frown. “You don’t want to hear this, I’m sorry.”

“No, I do. I asked you to talk to me and I meant it. Of course it’s going to hurt, that’s a really long time.”

“Yeah. It’s been coming for a while, I think. He’s been fed up with my job and the travel and wanted me to look for something else. We’ve had our issues, I just didn’t think it would end so casually while I’m in another country.”

He puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes gently.

“How was your day?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.

“Well,” he scratches at the short stubble on his jaw. “I got the final script for a new role today, and I have another audition in Los Angeles next week.”

“That’s what you call lazy?” I gape at him.

“It all happened this afternoon. I’ll be away most of next week, Luke has organised a few other meetings as well. Then I’ll be back for a few weeks before we start filming.”

“Sounds exciting,”

“I’d much rather stay at home. Unfortunately I’ve had to accept the world is much larger than London.”

He kisses the top of my head and pulls my legs up over his lap.

“When he first told me I was annoyed about being away when you’re here, but… I think it might be a good thing. Not because I won’t miss you, but I think it will stop me from rushing you. I want to rush you, I want to fall hard and take you down with me.”

“Wow,” I whisper.

“Too much.”

“No. You’re right. I need to sort my stuff out. You deserve that.”  
“That’s not what I meant.”

I try to stifle a yawn and fail miserably. Tom chuckles and pulls my head into his chest, and his hand starts running lightly up and down my spine.

The next thing I know the same gentle hand is tickling the back of my neck and creeping under the hem of my shirt, tracing circles over my lower back. For a few seconds I keep my eyes closed and there is nothing in the world but his delicate touch, the drag of his smooth fingers on my skin and the sound of his breath.

When I finally look up I can see the clock behind him and realise I’ve slept for at least an hour, and while I’m far from rested it’s difficult to ignore those hands. I bring my hand to his neck and press my lips against his, pulling him into a deep kiss. Our tongues glide over one another and Tom’s hands tug my shirt up, breaking out lips apart briefly to pull it over my head while I straddle him and return the action. My hands run down his neck to his shoulders, feeling the muscles move as he holds me against him. I roll my hips, grinding against him, and his kiss becomes more urgent and forceful.

When Tom moans, it is honestly the finest sound in the world. It’s so deep and breathy and libidinous, almost frightening in its intensity. It makes me shift to another gear, ignites a fire in me that can only be extinguished by him.

I kiss his throat, nipping gently at the skin near his shoulder, and he leans his head back to let out a carnal groan. I run my fingertips over his adams apple and he moans again, and then somehow we’re on the bed and I’ve abandoned my skirt along the way.

Tom’s knee presses between my legs, his hand skimming my thigh while his teeth find my nipple through my bra. I reach down to his pants and unbuckle his belt and I can feel his erection pressing into me even before I push his jeans down so he can wriggle them off. He reaches behind me and unfastens my bra, even while I’m sliding it off my arms he’s taking one breast in his hand and the other in his mouth and I can feel my nipple harden to a pebble between his lips. My hand finds his cock and I stroke slowly, the vibration through my breast when he groans around it is like an electric shock to my core. His long fingers have become less gently and more persuasive, trailing down my side and making me arch my hips up, and then my panties are on the floor.

I moan as he parts my legs with his hand and teases his fingers between my folds, and his mouth moves down over my stomach to my mound while his hand grips my waist to hold me still. Instinctively I roll my hips up as he moves down and his mouth meets my sex, gently at first with his tongue slowly circling my throbbing bud. He hooks my thighs over his shoulders and presses my back into the bed and his strong hands spread my skin, exposing me completely. I cry out as he begins to stroke me harder with his tongue and sucks my clit, my fingers tangling in his hair. Tom sets a rhythm, alternating thrusting his tongue inside with lapping fluidly at my clit and I can feel an orgasm building quickly. I’m lost in his movements, flailing and moaning with one hand in his soft curls and the other grasping at the sheets. Tom’s hand takes mine, interlacing our fingers to steady me and I can no longer hold back. His fingers dig into my hip, leaving bruises that will be there for days, and I scream out his name as I come apart. He’s thrusting his tongue slowly in and out as I come down, my walls contracting while I catch my breath and whimper in spent ecstasy.

Tom continues licking slowly until I am ignited all over again and then stalks up the bed with eyes that say he wants to devour me whole, and if he continues giving me that look I’ll let him do anything he likes. His mouth crashes into mine and I can taste myself on his lips. He kisses me and my hands roam over his back, my fingernails dragging over his skin until I find his ass and dig in, pulling him towards me.

He grins down at me, sweeping a stray damp hair from my face while he reaches to his jeans pocket. I kiss his chest and suck a hard nipple into my mouth while he rolls a condom down his shaft and positions himself.

Tom bends his head down to kiss me and I can feel the smile lingering on his lips even while his tip is pressing into my sex. He pulls back and his eyes are the deep blue of a stormy ocean, dark and lidded and wanting. Wanting me.

“Tom,” I breathe, and he pushes hard and fills me with one thrust, knocking the air from my lungs. His intense stare burns into me for a few thrusts before he’s kissing me again, and then our hands are exploring, roaming, leaving marks on one another’s skin. I lick and suck at his throat, his neck, his chest, that sensitive spot on his clavicle that always makes him moan. His lips are next to my ear and he’s growling and grunting as he pushes deeper, kissing behind my ear and biting my earlobe.

He grips my thigh and holds it up around his waist to thrust deeper, pinning me into the bed and making loud moans escape my throat. His head is rubbing over my gspot with every thrust and I’m panting into his chest, unable to catch my breath as I feel an orgasm taking over my body.

“Oh, god… Tom… Fuck!” He thrusts deep into me and I come undone, my walls collapsing around him and triggering his orgasm with a guttural groan as his teeth sink into my shoulder.

He rolls off and pulls me into his arms, kissing me slow and deep and taking my breath before I can catch it. I fall asleep with my head resting on his bicep while he strokes my hair, my mind floating somewhere above us in the clouds.


	11. Chapter 11

Tom Hiddleston naked in the early morning light is a sight to behold. He has one arm outstretched under my neck and the other is bent with his hand under his head. He’s breathing softly in his sleep and nothing moves except for the rise and fall of his toned chest under the pale filtered light. My nose and mouth are just millimetres from the side of his chest and I have the urge to taste his skin with my tongue. I move quietly and deliberately so as not to wake him, propping myself on one arm. I’m sure we went to sleep under the covers but somehow during the night our body heat has made them unnecessary, and he’s lying on his back completely exposed.

His face is relaxed but his thin pink lips have the slightest hint of a smile, his features softened with sleep contrasting with the rough stubble taking over his jaw. His face is turned slightly toward me and it casts a shadow over his long freckled neck and that lovely dip where his clavicles meet, his shoulders are flexed and strong and I can see every muscle through his skin. The bicep curled to support his head is well-worked and powerful, and I know he is so much stronger than he appears when he’s clothed.

That beautiful chest, lean and muscled with its random splatter of tiny fine dark hair, his pink-brown nipples soft and smooth, rising and falling with his breath and his ribs expanding and moving under his skin. Tom has the most exquisite abs, and even though I know they’re relaxed now I can see their outline like an anatomy model taken straight from a textbook and brought to life.

I count the freckles on his torso, resting the urge to mark them with a kiss as I go, and finally my eyes fall on that happy little trail that leads down from his navel. I’m almost having to bite my fingers at this point, I so badly want to touch him, but I don’t want to wake him. His legs are splayed slightly and relaxed but I’m sure his thighs must be as rock hard as when he’s standing and I can follow the outline of the muscle with my eyes. Tom’s legs are so long they reach almost to the end of the bed, he has one knee bent and I wonder if it’s habit from his toes always touching the end.

My eyes are drawn back up to his hips, his cock lays soft against a soft bed of hair but even as I’m watching it stirs momentarily and I have to stifle a giggle behind my hand. I rest my head back on his arm and lay a hand gently on his chest and let it wander, and when he doesn’t stir I let my fingers trace every contour and every muscle, every soft patch of relaxed flesh. My nose presses against his chest and I breathe in his spicy, musky scent and kiss him lightly.

My own naked body is pressed against Tom’s side, uncovered and exposed, and as my hand roams I feel my nipples harden against him and a heat stirring between my thighs. While I watch him sleep I see his erection grow quickly and when I trace a finger over his scrotum it stands proudly upward.

Finally he stirs, a small groan coming from his throat, and pulls me against him before sinking back into sleep.

I carefully extract myself and move down his body, straddling his straight leg and taking pains not to touch him until I am in position. I bend and touch my tongue to the base of his cock, licking up his shaft slowly, my hand gently cupping his sack. I watch Tom’s face frown a little as he groans again and inhales sharply. The veins are like road bumps under my tongue as I lick up his length again in a long smooth motion and then take his tip between my lips and kiss, sucking down to the ridge of his head.

My hand strokes and squeezes his balls gently and I rub a finger toward his ass before exchanging it with my mouth, taking his cock in my hand and kissing the puckered skin softly. As I stroke his erection I suck his balls gently and his head lifts off the pillow with a gasp.

“Fuck, Rebecca.”

I used to hate anyone using my full name and it’s been a long time since anyone familiar has done so, but the way Tom says it with such lust and desire and a hint of reprimand turns me to putty.

I continue sucking until I hear his breath coming in irregular gasps and then take his cock in my mouth again, licking over the frenulum and circling the head with my tongue while I take as much of his length as I can. My hand works the remainder and before long he is thrusting up to my mouth with his hips and moaning loudly.

With a firm caress of his sack his seed fills my throat, hot and thick and salty, and I suck slow and gently until he stills and relaxes back into the bed. After a minute I lay back on the pillow and he props his head on his hand, smiling down at me.

“What do I have to do to have that wake up call every morning?” He says in his gravelly morning voice. “Jesus, Bec.” Tom’s lips meet mine eagerly, his tongue thrusting into my mouth and the thought of him tasting himself on my tongue sets me alight.

“I have to get up,” I groan when he rolls me to my back.

“No you don’t, darling. It’s Saturday.”

Tom shakes his head and his nose rubs against mine, and then I see his eyes light up before he gets out of bed and bounds toward the bathroom. “Shower?” He says, raising his eyebrows.

By the time I get to the bathroom Tom already has the water running and is wetting his hair, taking away the mussed bedhead from the previous night. Without wasting any time he has me pinned to the wall, his mouth closing over mine while his hands run down my body and part my legs, slipping a finger inside easily. My hands run down his back and pull him against me and I’m surprised to find a growing erection pressing into my hip.

I raise my eyebrows and he shrugs with a coy grin as I stroke him, and he lifts my legs around his waist. I guide him into me and he thrusts in and out, pushing me against the wall with every snap of his hips. With one hand tangled in his hair and the other digging into his waist I come hard around him and barely muffle a scream in his shoulder. Tom doesn’t even slow, and by the time I feel him spill into me my teeth have left marks on the skin over his clavicle and I’m contracting around him all over again.

He sets me down on my feet and leans his head back under the water so it runs down his body and then pulls me against him, kissing me while the water streams over our faces. When he pulls away he smooths my hair back and looks at me seriously.

“Spend the weekend with me.”

I stare at him open-mouthed. “Tom, I-”

“We can forget about the rest of the world for a couple of days.” He strokes my face with his thumbs. “You fell asleep on me last night, you’ve hardly slept since you’ve been here. And you sort of seem to sleep better… with me.” He looks down with a shy smile that makes my already wobbly legs almost crumble.

“Ok. I’m all yours until Monday.”

“Perfect. Get dressed.”

I frown at him, putting clothes on isn’t what I thought he had in mind.

“Trust me. Just get dressed, and pack a bag so you can stay with me. There will be plenty of time for removing clothes later.”

We’re driving in Tom’s car, just under an hour outside London, and a few landmarks along the way are starting to look familiar. He’s taking me back to the beach.

When we arrive the air is slightly warm and salty, the sun blazing toward midday and it’s almost what I would call a nice day for the beach. A cool breeze blows up from the waves below and I keep my hoodie on against its chill. Tom leads me down onto the sand and we are completely alone, there is not another person in sight. We sit in the sand in silence, listening to the roar of the ocean, the cries of the sea birds. I’m beginning to see why Tom comes here to feel alone.

Eventually I can’t take the silence anymore.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

“No. But you have some decisions to make, and I wanted you to have a chance to think about it. I get the impression you keep putting it off.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Yep.” He laughs. “You don’t even have to talk to me, I can sit here and be quiet as long as you want.”

“Is this what you do when you have to make a decision?”

“Not always. The tough ones, sometimes.”

“What sort of tough decisions does Tom Hiddleston have to make?”

“Uh uh. We’re here to talk about you. Stop deflecting.”

“Well, the only thing really stopping me from working here more, or moving here permanently, was Nathan. So if that’s still what I want, I can have it now.”

“There’s nothing else stopping you?”

“I do like having my own office in Sydney. I have a great team there.”

“And you’ve got it running so well you can do it from here, yeah?”

“Yeah. And I can go back every few months, just like I come over here now.”

“So what’s stopping you? What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s easier to want it when you know you can’t have it.”

“What about reasons to move, then?”

“I love it here, I love being in the middle of everything and it will mean we don’t outsource photos. I’ll get to travel more, not just in big long chunks because I’m a day’s flight away. I enjoy working here, I’d have more responsibility.”

He nods thoughtfully, eyes staring blankly out to the ocean. I’m expecting him to say something but he stays quiet and leans back on his elbows and his eyes meet mine.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just like looking at you. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind?”

“I think I have. So, what’s on your mind?”

“No tough decisions, I just like hanging out with you.”

He sits upright and lifts me as though I weigh nothing so I’m sitting between his legs. “Are you cold?” He says in my ear, wrapping his long arms around my waist.

“Not any more.” I can feel the warmth of his body against my back even through my clothes.

We eat on the same pier in the sun, and this time when I fall asleep on the way home I have Tom’s hand holding mine and he carries me inside to the couch.

Tom has his glasses on and is engrossed in a book when I wake up, my legs are draped over his lap and his book rests on my knees.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” he says without looking at me.

“How long was I out?”

“A couple of hours,” He smiles and looks over at me, rubbing my leg with his hand while I rub my drowsy eyes.

“I’m so tired. I don’t think I’ve been this tired in my life.”

“Becca, you hardly sleep!”

“Normally I don’t need all that much, I can survive on almost nothing.”

“Maybe you’re getting old.” I lift up my foot and consider kicking him with it but surprise him with a punch to the ribs instead.

“Easy there, Thomas. You’re still a few months older.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “The truth is I thought about just putting you to bed and laying down with you, but we’d have been there until morning. Sleeping, I mean.”

“No, we wouldn’t. We might be there until morning…”

“Let’s go then.”

I don’t know how he finds it so easy to pick me up, I’m not exactly light. Kind of petite, yes, but he’s so much stronger than he lets on.

Before I can protest I’m tossed unceremoniously into the middle of the bed and Tom has me pinned to the mattress.  


	12. Chapter 12

I’m looking out Tom’s kitchen window into the night when he finds me, an omelette cooking away in a pan on the stove. **  
**

“Oh, you can cook? I had no idea.”

“It’s one of the things I sort of miss about being in a hotel, not having a kitchen.”

“You’re welcome to use mine any time you like, especially if you dress like that.” I blush a little and turn back to the stove, I’ve pulled on his button-down shirt from yesterday and buttoned it rather haphazardly. The way I can feel him looking at me I’m wondering if going without panties was a good choice.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, I thought you’d probably be hungry when you woke up.”

“I’m famished. Can I help?”

“No, it’s almost done. Just have a seat and look pretty.”

He pulls up a stool at the bench and I can still feel his eyes on me. When I set down the spatula he grabs my waist and pulls me against him, kissing my mouth so hard I start to see stars. Just as suddenly he pulls back. “How long do I have?”

“About a minute.” I giggle.

He tilts his head from side to side as if he’s weighing up his options. “Not worth it. I can wait.”

As soon as we’re finished eating he puts the dishes in the sink and leans on the other side of the counter.

“What now?” I ask playfully.

“I was going to take you back to bed.”

“What if I don’t want to go back to bed yet? Maybe I’m not tired.”

“There are always other options.” He moves back around to me before I can escape and lifts me onto the bench, standing between my legs and swiftly unbuttoning my shirt. His mouth finds mine and his tongue glides between my lips, searching and tasting and making me whimper. I tug his shorts down and they pool at his feet while his hand finds my breast and the other drags slowly over my sex, finding me already slick and hot. I stroke his erection and guide him to me and he fills me with one hard thrust.

I’m expecting a hard and fast ride, but instead he moves slowly in and out, taking his time and circling my clit with his thumb. I plant sucking kisses on his neck and shoulder and moan softly into his ear, urging him to go faster. With every thrust he is completely sheathed inside me and the feeling is divine, my ass is on the edge of the bench and his balls just brush me each time. His thumb asserts more pressure on my bud and I cry out, letting my head fall back.

“Come apart for me,” he groans. “Look at me.”

I look up, his eyes are open and he’s watching the way my body moves as he pushes into me, watching our bodies grind together. His stare burns into mine for a second before wandering again, and I can feel the heat from it flush over my body. He bends his head to suck my nipple and it is my undoing, I call out his name over and over as I tense and contract. Tom is still watching my body, my abs clenching with each spasm, my juices coating his shaft, my flushed face and sweat covered skin.

Tom suddenly withdraws and I whine at the loss of sensation. He grabs my waist and sets me on my feet, spinning me roughly around so that I’m bracing myself on the counter. He rolls a condom over his shaft and pushes my legs apart, sliding in and filling me from behind. “Fuck me, Tom. Hard and fast.” I don’t even realise the words are my own, but he’s nothing if not obedient. The sound of skin slapping together combines with our moans and fills the kitchen as he slams into me, pushing me hard against the bench with both hands gripping my hips. I can hear in his breath and his moans when he’s close and I feel him reach in front to flick my bud with his fingers.

I bite back a scream as I shatter around him and seconds later I feel him tense and then still inside me, bringing me down with long slow thrusts before he withdraws. My legs are weak and I’m gripping the bench for dear life, not confident I can stand let alone walk. I turn to face him and he kisses me slowly and then looks down at my hands.

“Tired now?” He grins. I nod, I honestly don’t expect my legs will hold me up.

Of course that’s not a problem for mister Caveman, who throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and takes me back to the bedroom with a stinging slap on my ass for good measure.

I’m going to have to teach this boy some manners.

* * *

“Becca? Come back to bed.”

I can hear him grumbling from the bedroom while I brush my teeth. I finish and pack up my makeup bag before I go back to him.

“You had a shower without me? And you’re wearing clothes?” He’s sitting up, rubbing his face and giving me his best puppy dog eyes.

“I have to go back to the hotel before work.” I keep wandering around the room until I have everything packed in my bag, and when I turn back to him he’s standing right behind me and spinning me in his arms.

“I only need five minutes.”

“You’ve just ruined the expectations of women everywhere.”

“I’m going to quiet that pretty mouth now.”

He leans down and closes his mouth over mine, inhaling me in and pressing against me.

“Can I see you tonight?”

“Actually, no. I’m going out for dinner with Prue and Henry.”

“Then you owe me five minutes to tide me over until next week.”

He falls backwards onto the bed and pulls me with him, holding me tight with his octopus arms until I stop squirming.

“Five minutes. I’m timing you.”

He hoists up my dress and swiftly discards my panties, flips me over and enters me with one thrust. I look up at his face and his jaw is clenched, his eyes half closed, and he bends his head to kiss my neck and moan into my ear before he sets a driving pace.

Surely if I skip my coffee, and go straight to work in a maxi dress, I can spare ten minutes. Perhaps even fifteen.

“I’ll see you when I get back, I hope?”

“Of course.”

He stands up and pulls on a pair of boxers while I smooth my dress back down and re-do my hair.

“Bec, I want you to know I’ll be thinking about you. But I won’t call you every day, because I said I wouldn’t rush you.”

A laugh escapes before I can retract it, and Tom’s frown is confused and a little hurt.

“I’m sorry, that just slipped out because we just spent most of a weekend in your bed.”

“There was that time in the kitchen. And the couch, the shower.” He laughs and pulls me back to him. “What I meant was, we agreed a week apart might be good.” He kisses me gently. “I might text you twenty times a day but that’s ok, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I will miss you, Becca.” Tom puts his hand under my hair and presses his lips to mine gently, his soft open lips warm and wet on mine. I lick his bottom lip slowly and he opens so our tongues are dancing and gliding together. I’m sure Tom’s slow kisses are so perfect because he actually makes time grind to a halt and the rest of the world falls silent.

By the time he releases me I’m flushed and at least half an hour late, and trying to tame my hair for the third time in an hour.

“You should go, Prue will be asking questions.”

“I’ll miss you too, Tom. Thank you for this weekend.”

“Thank  _you_ , darling.”

It only occurs to me when the cab pulls up at the office that I’m carrying my overnight bag and missing my laptop bag, and I have to call Prue and give her some ridiculous excuse about sleeping through my alarm.

I never sleep in. She knows it, I know she knows it.

Fortunately she plays along and we have so much work to get through we don’t have time to talk until dinner that evening.

Prue and Henry make the sweetest couple. Remember I said she can tell you your work sucks but your hair is fabulous in the same breath? Henry brings out her soft, squishy, complimentary side.

“What’s going on with you, Becca?” He asks while pouring me a glass of wine. “How’s Nathan?”

“Um… he’s good I think. We broke up.”

“When did that happen?” Prue shrieks. I frown at her and she lowers her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t ready to talk about it. It was after the gala the other week.”

Was that really only two weeks ago?

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Henry is looking down at the table like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

“No, it’s fine. We just grew up and grew apart, he wanted me to stay in Sydney all the time and have a family and I wanted to keep traveling and working. After all that time we couldn’t see past our little bubble I guess.” Prue reaches across and grabs my hand, giving it a gently squeeze. “I’m ok, honestly. Actually, this means I have news for you. If you want me to be here permanently and be based in London, I can. I want to.”

“Well, cheers and welcome to our new editor in charge of online and features.”

“Wow.”

“About time you got a promotion, Becca.” Henry says, raising his glass.

I’m gaping in shock at both of them. “No, no… I’m happy to just do what I do…”

“You will be,” Prue chuckles. “It’s just a title change.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s well deserved. So, you’re going to move over here?”

“Yeah, Nathan is packing up my things. I guess I should go back and sort through it, and find somewhere to live. Could you help me find somewhere?”

“Ooh sounds like fun. Definitely.” She’s clapping her hands like an excited teenager and I can’t help but laugh. If the rest of the staff could see Grumpy McBitchypants now.

“And I’ll have to plan when I go back.”

“Is next week too soon? I was looking at what’s coming up today and next week is pretty clear so far. How long do you need?”

“A couple of weeks I guess, I can work while I’m over there but I’ll need time to get it all done.”

“That’s fine. Book a flight and put it in my calendar.”

“Done. So how is the wedding planning?”

“We’re getting married in March.” Henry says, putting his arm around a glowing Prue who proceeds to tell me every last detail like the magazine editor she is.

* * *

Tom is very restrained until Wednesday night when I get a short barrage of texts. 

[Had a quiet day today and I’ve been thinking about you a lot. xx T] 

[Did you book a flight back to Sydney? Am I allowed to say I’ll miss you?] 

[Too bad, I’ll miss you. I can’t wait to have you in London all the time. Booty calls just aren’t the same from separate continents.]

[Now I’m imagining booty calling you, and you’re wearing a long coat with boots and lingerie.]

Apparently an idle Hiddleston really is the horny devil’s playground.

I’ve booked my flight home on Monday evening, but I’ve put off telling Nathan. I’m not sure why, I have to talk to him because he currently possesses all of my… well, possessions. Finally on Thursday morning my phone is dialling his when Prue wanders in looking like hell and I hang up.

“Good god, what’s wrong? You look awful.”

“Thanks. Do you by any chance carry painkillers? Ibuprofen, preferably, but I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“Yeah,” I start rifling through my bag. “Are you ok?”

“Just cramps.”

“Oh, I have specific painkillers for those. Here,” I hand her a packet of tablets and she gives me a tight-lipped smile on her way back out.

While I’m dialling Nathan’s number again, an idea that has nagged the back of my mind for weeks suddenly springs forth and starts hammering on the inside of my skull, dancing a polka and holding a neon sign. It only says one word, but I feel panic immediately rising from the pit of my stomach.

Period.

I take a deep breath and jam the phone into my shoulder to steady it while I flick through my diary. I have to admit, I’m a clockwork-cycle kind of girl – right down to the hour – so I don’t bother plotting it in advance and I don’t always mark when it comes. It’s just not high on my priorities, after being off the pill for about nine months it just continued in its perfect and comforting rhythm and I don’t give it a second thought. Every fourth Wednesday at 10am.

I’m not kidding, it’s that regular. Set your clock by it.

Calm down, it’s only a day. It’s Thursday, and it’s just after nine, so it’s not even 24 hours late. Hell it could be next week for all I can remember.

I’m still flicking, looking for something that might spark my sieve, I mean memory, when Nathan answers.

“Hey, you. How are you?”

“I’m good, Nath. How are you? It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too. What’s happening in London?”

“Not much. I’m actually moving over here, I’ll be back next week to sort out my stuff.”

“That’s great! I’ve packed almost all of it, I was going to call on the weekend and see if you wanted me to just rent you a storage space but if you’re coming home I’ll just keep it in the garage until then.”

I’ve stopped flicking and stopped listening. It isn’t due next week. It wasn’t due yesterday, either. I’m not even entirely confident about the week before.

A strangled, nervous sort of laugh comes out of me. At least I think it’s me. I seem to be experiencing a funny out of body thing.

“Nathan, I’ll call you back.” I hang up before he can answer and stand up, I can feel my legs wobbling under me. I have to get to the bathroom.

Prue is almost at my door to return my tablets and I narrowly avoid crash tackling her to get past. Finally I make it to the bathroom and close the door, emptying my breakfast and probably dinner into the toilet. And of course, the carrots. Always, when I think there’s nothing left, carrots.

I splash some water on my face and then just stare at myself for a few minutes, although I’m not really seeing anything. When I do register my own reflection there is a greyish green face staring back at me with the eyes of a tarsier at gunpoint: huge, unblinking and petrified. (If you’ve never seen a tarsier, google it. It’s worth it.)

I sort of stumble back to my office and collapse into the chair and find Prue sitting opposite me. “Are you ok, honey?”

“Yeah. I think I just… ate something. I’ll be fine.” I force a smile, and it must be a reassuring one because she frowns and hands me a glass of water.

“You can go home if you need to. Or lie down here, whatever you need. Ok?”

“Thanks.”

As I’m typing ‘reasons for late period’ into Google my heart is racing and I wonder if I might be having a heart attack.

That isn’t among the reasons.

There are plenty of others, though. The main one is stress, and I have been under quite a bit. When Tom said I’d hardly slept, he wasn’t exaggerating. I can’t remember the last full night’s sleep I had, and even after a restful weekend I’m still barely able to keep my eyes open. I’m not eating as well as I normally would – those few kilos Prue chided me for losing have already crept back on and brought a few friends, I’m sure – and I’m running on caffeine.

My heart is slowing to normal and the weight is lifting off my chest. I can, and I will, wait this out. It’s normal, and I have no symptoms of anything else. I have nothing to worry about.

I flick back through my diary again while I redial Nathan. There has to be some indication, and I need to know exactly how late I am. I mean, it’s probably worth worrying around the nine month mark, right?

“What the hell was that about?”

“Sorry, I just… never mind. Sorry. You were saying something about a storage shed?”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it all in the garage for you though.”

“Ok. If there’s anything you want, or friends or anyone wants, you know what’s important. I trust you.”

“Are you ok? You sound funny.”

“Funny haha?”

“Funny like you swallowed a chipmunk.”

I giggle, and the more I think about it the funnier it gets. “That would be pretty funny.”

“Becca,”

“I’m fine. I just didn’t feel well for a minute. I’m good. So, I’ll see you next week. I’m staying down the road so I’ll be close-”

“That’s silly. Stay here. We have this lovely guest room, remember?”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“You can always move to a hotel if it is.”

“Have you told everyone?”

“Pretty much, yeah. We had it right for so long, I think everyone outside is more in shock than we are.”

“That’s usually the way it works.”

He laughs, and I can imagine him with his hand on his chest as he does. My big cuddly boof. Only he’s not mine anymore, and I’m not his. My stomach has twisted itself into a pretzel, and adding guilt just makes it a little more unpleasant so I have to shift in my chair.

“I have an uncomfortable question for you.” I can not believe I’m about to ask my ex-boyfriend this. But I know he’ll know. “When was my last, um… period?”

“You’re hopeless, bub.”

“I know.”

“It was around Josh’s wedding, remember? You were going to wear white pants and you changed your mind at the last minute and had to go buy something else. You wore that fucking tight dress that just screamed to be hoisted up around your waist and… yeah. I couldn’t.”

“Yes it was. Thanks, boof.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you next week, hey? Want me to pick you up at the airport?”

“Nah, I’ll get a cab. I’ll see you then.”

I hang up and flick back to the page with love hearts doodled all over it for my cousin’s wedding and mark the Thursday before with a little cross.

My phone is vibrating across the desk and I’m startled back to the present.

“Hello?”

“Tell me you’ve had a period since the wedding.” A much too calm Nathan says on the other end. “Becca? You have, right?”

I know that voice. It’s his ‘I want to yell at you but I’m not sure how much shit you’re in yet’ voice.

Without even thinking, my brain goes into autopilot and I snort. “Of course I have. Otherwise I’d be like… late. A lot late.”

“Four weeks. Why did you ask if you’ve had one in between?”

“I wanted to be sure I was marking the right date for the next one.”

“You never do that, Becca. Why now?”

“I’m planning whether I need to bring stuff on the plane, ok? Fuck you’re nosey!”

“Alright, sorry. You had me panicking. I’m sorry. So you’re good?”

“I’m good.”


	13. Chapter 13

I’m not good. Nothing is good. Four weeks. Fuck. **  
**

“I brought supplies,” Rachel says when I open the door, and I see she has a shopping bag in each hand. “Cookies, chocolate, ice cream and wine. You sounded weird. You look weird, Becca. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say as I close the door. She sets the bags down on the small table and opens the ice cream. “Good thinking, I don’t have a freezer.”

“Bec, please. What’s-”

“I’m late.”

“Huh? Oh. How- how late?”

“Four weeks. Yesterday.”

“Becca!” She yells loud enough that I jump and shrink back a little from the ice cream, which she promptly hands to me while she paces.

“Have you done a test?”

“No. It has to be stress, or jetlag or something.”

Rachel laughs. “Jetlag? Really?”

“Stress, then. I haven’t been eating or sleeping properly.”

“Becca, honey. You have to do a preg-”

“Don’t say it, I swear to god Rach I will vomit on you.”

“A test. I’m going to get you one, and you’re going to do it. Now.”

I shake my head violently and suddenly ice cream doesn’t seem like such a great idea. Rachel has already picked up her bag and doesn’t even see my protest, by the time I find my voice she’s gone.

When she returns so quickly I imagine her doing a quick doorknock of the other rooms on my floor asking if by chance they have a pregnancy test in their bathroom and immediately burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

She hands me a paper pharmacy bag and I wonder if I can permanently hire her as my assistant for my personal life. She could track my periods for me so we wouldn’t have this problem again.

“Nothing. Did you just sprint there and back?”

“Pretty much. Now go.”

“I can’t pee on demand, Rach!”

She sits down and takes the remaining ice cream and looks at me expectantly. “You can’t have any more until you pee on that stick. I’ll even read it for you.”

I curse under my breath on the five steps to the bathroom and return a few minutes later to hand her the box.

“It’s done, it’s on the sink. I can’t look, I know it’s negative. It’s just stress.”

Rachel hands me the tub, which is now almost empty, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re rambling, honey. Breathe. You’ve got to wait three minutes.”

The last time I bought one of these I was 17 and naive, and I still have a bit of a chuckle thinking about it. 

> Nathan and I had been together just over a year when we had sex for the first time, both of us virgins, and it was almost two months before we plucked up the courage to do it again. And then on our second foray into the wonderful world of sex, the condom broke. To Nathan’s credit, he realised and stopped and managed to replace it with another and keep going; it was then I knew that he was a keeper. If he could keep an erection through a freak out about STDs and pregnancy, I wasn’t letting him go.
> 
> Fast forward a whole four days, and my period is due. When it hasn’t started by early afternoon he drives me out of town to a pharmacy where no one knows us and on the way home we stop at a McDonald’s so I can pee on a stick.

If only I knew then what I know now. For six months we’ve been laughing over the number of times we panicked that I might get pregnant, how I refused to let his penis anywhere near me without a condom even when I was on the pill, how we thought babies just happened if you looked at one another the wrong way. Turns out it takes a little more planning and effort.

Or not.

I guess I’m about to find out.

Rachel laughs and holds my hand as I recount the whole ridiculous story.

“You’ve been trying for six months?”

“We’ve been not preventing for six months. Well we were. God, Rach there is so much more to this story, and I don’t even know where to start.”

A full wine bottle is staring at me, and I wish I was reckless enough to just down it. The timer goes off and she makes her way to the bathroom. “Breathe, honey.”

I’ve taken so many deep breaths I’m risking hyperventilation. I already know what the result is, I’ve known it all day, and it comes as no shock.

“Bec?” She sits down next to me and rubs my back, I can see the test in her hand but I don’t look because I really just want to spend a few more seconds in denial. “You’re pr-”

I hold up a finger and put my hand over my mouth, and she stops and sighs. She knows as well as I do I’ll have to hear the word eventually. Hell, I’ll probably have to say it. Not now. Not yet.

“It’s positive.”

She holds it out so I can see.

Two lines. For the hundredth time I check the box to be sure I’m reading it correctly, and it confirms that two lines = impending, life altering, doom.

“Well, fuck.”

For a few seconds I let my mind wander and imagine what it might be like to stay here and have this baby, but it makes my heart ache. How could I do that to Nathan, take his so desperately waited for child to the other side of the world?

And how could I do that to Tom? I know there’s something strong between us but I’m pregnant with someone else’s baby?

Panic is rising in my stomach, my mind racing with ‘what am I going to do?’ over and over until the words don’t even make any sense.

“Becca?”

“Hm?”

I look at Rachel but I don’t really see her, and her words might as well be in a foreign language. The air in the room has suddenly turned gelatinous, I can’t breathe and I’m drowning in it.

And then I’m in the bathroom and she’s rubbing my back and telling me in her lovely soothing Oliver Twist voice to breathe, just breathe, it will be ok.

The ice cream was definitely a bad idea. Better than wine, but still bad. And again with the carrots.

“I c-can’t, R-Rach. I-I… I can’t… can’t bre-breathe.”

She’s not just a pretty face and a novelty voice, my Rach. She’s also life-savingly level headed in a crisis. The paper pharmacy bag is over my mouth and nose, and once I realise she isn’t trying to suffocate me I feel my lungs working again.

I am seriously considering hiring her at this point, as my personal tag-along-and-keep-me-alive-and-sane assistant person. 

My face is soaked with tears, and I don’t know if they are from panic, from puking, or if I’m actually crying my broken little heart out. Regardless she wipes those away for me, too. Because she’s my Rachel, and I hold on tight to her shirt in a weird show of gratitude crossed with ‘please don’t leave me to die on the bathroom floor’.

Eventually we make it back to the couch, along with the box of tissues and paper bag of resuscitation. “Thank you,” I choke out. “This isn’t quite the evening you were expecting.”

“Ah, no. No it isn’t. But I’m so glad I can be here for you.”

I love her for not asking stupid questions like ‘what are you going to do’ or ‘how are you going to tell Nathan’ or ‘how are you going to tell Tom’. Partly because she doesn’t know about Tom, but mostly because she is an amazing friend.

She picks up my phone and shows me the screen with a puzzled look on her face, the caller ID is flashing ‘Puddles’. I hadn’t even heard it ringing. She avoids the obvious ‘do you want me to answer it’ and sets it down between us, letting it go to voicemail.

Apparently I am not so immune to the stupid questions.

“Fuck me, Rach. What the fuck am I going to do?”

“I think maybe you should sleep on it but you need to see a doctor, sweetie.” She’s talking to me like I am five years old, and it’s exactly what I need right now. I nod and blow my nose.

“I’m going back to Sydney on Monday. I’ll do it there. I was just going to pack my stuff and move here, but now…”

“It will be ok, you’ll see. Maybe you and Nathan-” She’s cut off by my phone ringing again. “Puddles is rather insistent.”

I switch off the ring and put it back on the table. “Puddles is a pseudonym.”

“I figured, Bec. Otherwise it’s just creepy. Who is Puddles?”

“Tom. Tom Hiddleston.”

“Why is he calling you? Weren’t you done a couple of weeks ago?”

“Professionally, yes.”

“Oh, Becca. No.”

“Yes. Let’s just say it out loud, shall we? I’m shagging Tom Hiddleston, and I’m preg- having Nathan’s baby. Not only that, but one is in London, the other in Sydney. And the whole time I’ve been with Tom I’ve been… you know. Positive.”

The look she gives me is so sympathetic I think she might just weep right along with me, and then the most ridiculous thing happens.

I laugh.

Not a little embarrassed ‘god I fucked up’ giggle. An ‘I forget how to breathe’, snorting, falling on the floor, belly laugh.

And god bless her she laughs even harder than I do. When it subsides I’m sitting on the floor and my sides ache, the panic that had threatened to overcome me has passed and I almost feel like everything will be ok.  

I pick up my phone and send a text to Tom: [Just watching a movie with Rach, can I call you tomorrow? Same time?]

[Of course you can, I’ll look forward to hearing your voice. I miss you. Sweet dreams xx]

Rachel tucks me into bed and promises to be back for breakfast so we can talk. I can’t imagine I’ll get much sleep and I insist she takes the wine with her because she looks like she might need it, and I’m not sure my resolve is that strong.

Wine makes everything better. Except this, apparently. No amount of wine is going to make this situation easier. I am royally fucked.

Rachel lets herself in the next morning while I’m in the shower and I hear her call out to me. I can see myself naked in the mirror while the hot water runs over my body and I’m acutely aware of the extra curves I seem to have gained.

Not that that doesn’t happen every time I come to London.

There can’t possibly be a baby in there. There just can’t, it’s not possible. I’d know, I’d feel different. I don’t feel different. I feel like I want to go to work and forget about it.

I exit the bathroom dressed and made up as best I can manage with no sleep, and Rachel frowns. She’s brought fruit salad and croissants and coffee. If I could marry her I would.

I hold up the coffee and sniff it suspiciously. “If this is decaf I might have to divorce you.”

“It’s not. I value my life. You really should-”

She cuts off that thought, because she values her life and she can see the look on my face.

“You’re not considering going to work today? Did you get any sleep?”

“Yes. And no. I have to talk to Prue. I’m going back, Rach. For good. Maybe Nathan will want to give it another try.”

She nods and hands me a croissant. I know she’s waiting for more but I’m not ready to talk about him yet.

“Thank you so much, honey. You’ve been amazing. I’m really going to miss you. When do you start your new job?”

“Not for a couple of weeks. You give me a call if you need me, ok? And we’ll catch up before you go.”

“Absolutely. Walk me to work?”

* * *

“My office. Now.”

Prue doesn’t usually use McBitchypants with me, I’m in trouble now.

She waits until I’m sitting at her desk and hands me a cup of tea. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on, Becca. Right now. No more dodging.”

I let out a resigned sigh. This isn’t going to be pretty. “Remember Nathan and I were trying for a baby? Well, we’re having one.”

“You’re preg-”

“Don’t say the word, I’ll vomit.”

“Oh… ok. But you are.”

“Yes.”

“I’d say congratulations but I think you might throw something at me. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Listen, I think I need to go home and try to work things out with Nathan.”

“Of course. There’s nothing here you can’t do from there, we’ll just use freelance photographers. I’m sorry it’s not the timing you wanted, sweetie.”

“Thanks. I feel awful leaving you in the lurch like this. I guess I could stay longer..” But then I’d be in London. In Tom’s London.

“No, you should go and get things worked out.”

“I should. There’s a flight Saturday morning, I think I might take it.”

“You sure you’re alright, because you look fucking terrible.”

“Thanks, Prue.” I force a smile. “I’m fine, honest. I just need to process it. So keep me busy for the next few days, yeah?”

“Sure, I’ll feed your denial. I’ve emailed you a list of tasks that need to be done before you go, and I’ll add to it.”

When I get back to my desk I change my flight and send Nathan a text. [I’m going to be in on Sunday evening, is that ok? Could you pick me up at the airport?]

His reply is quick and I wonder what he’s doing right now, what the weather is like in Sydney, if he’s told all of our friends and his family by now. [I’d love to. See you soon!]

Prue wasn’t kidding about feeding my denial and keeping me busy, I’ve been working practically every minute since. By 5pm on Friday I’ve barely managed a quick afternoon coffee with Rachel and Prue before I pack my things to leave.

I’m in my hotel room packing when there is a quiet knock on the door. I’m all at once terrified, anxious and can’t wait to open it.

When I do Tom is leaning on the door frame all tall and handsome and a bit tan, and a huge warm smile spreads over his face.

“Hello, darling.”

As soon as I’ve closed the door I launch myself into his arms and he wraps them tight around me, kissing the top of my head and pulling it against his chest. “I missed you,” I whisper into his chest.

“I missed you, too. Oh, you feel good.” I feel him stiffen and I know he’s taking in the packed bags on the bed, the emptied room. “Does this mean I have you for the weekend?”

“No,” I sniff. “I’m sorry, Tom. I have to go tomorrow.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I’ll explain if you’ll have me tonight?”

“Of course. Are you ready to go?”

“Almost. I just need shoes.”

He pulls back and looks down at me, and I know he can tell something is horribly wrong. He kisses me gently and then pulls me in deeper, his tongue rubbing against mine so that all of the ‘I missed you’ and ‘I want you’s don’t need to be spoken.

When Tom releases me he strokes my face briefly and then picks up the bags behind me. I check out, he loads up the car, and my stay in London is coming to an end.

Once we start driving I want to ask about his trip, have him tell me with his wild gesturing hands how amazing it all was, all the exciting opportunities he’s been talking about. Instead he reaches over and takes my hand, rubbing it gently.

“Bec, whatever is going on, it will be ok.”

I nod, because it’s all I can manage and I’m afraid to open my mouth.


	14. Chapter 14

“Talk to me, Bec. Please?”

“I want to hear all about your trip.” I’m almost sobbing, there are tears streaming unhindered down my face. I can’t imagine why he’s not convinced everything is peachy.

“I want to know why you’re crying.”

We’re sitting on Tom’s couch, my legs over his lap just as he likes them, and I’m snuggled into his chest. It’s safe and warm, but it’s temporary and it’s not quite so soft as it was because it will never be mine. The life I’ve been dreaming about, the one I was sacrificing a long, loving relationship for, is gone.

Replaced by a teeny tiny life. I know it’s in there now. I still don’t feel any different, or look any different, but I know it’s only the size of a kidney bean so there’s nothing to see on the outside yet. I’ve been trying to focus on what I’m gaining rather than what I’m giving up, it’s all that keeps me going.

“I’m going back tomorrow. Going home. I’ll be staying in Sydney, I’m not coming back to London.”

I feel Tom’s weight shift under me and I know he’s wondering if history is repeating itself.

“I’m telling the truth, I swear. I can’t stay here, I need to go back.”

I hear him swallow, and when he speaks his voice is thick and heavy. “Back to Sydney, or back to…”

“Nathan. I think I’m going back to Nathan. If he’ll have me.”

I freeze against him and I’m chilled to the core when I feel his heartbeat race under my ear. I can feel him shaking his head and wiping his face, hear him sniff and take a long shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I’m sure you have good reason, I know you don’t make decisions without due consideration.” His tone is cold now, like we’re discussing business.

“I do. I wish I could just make everything different, but-”

“The heart wants what the heart wants?”

“Something like that. Please don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you, Rebecca. Never. I won’t pretend to understand, but I can see this is hurting you as much as it is me. I don’t intend to make it worse.”

“You give me far more than I deserve, Tom.”

“Does he know? About us?”

I shake my head and then cover a sob with my hand. I hadn’t even considered telling Nathan about Tom.

“Is he going to?”

“No.”

“Do you mind if we just sit here for a while?”

I press my head back against his chest and wrap my arms around his neck as though my life depends on it.

We sit in silence for what feels like hours, our fingers interlacing and unraveling only to intertwine and rub together again. The world passes us by and for whatever time we have left I don’t think about any of it. I don’t think about babies, or Nathan, or Lion and Lace. All that exists is Tom and me and his comforting warmth, his spicy scent that seems to instantly calm my nerves, his heart beating steadily beneath me.

After some time Tom puts his fingers gently on my chin and tilts my face up toward him. I can’t look into his eyes, I don’t want to see the hurt my own selfish actions have caused. I keep my eyes closed and imagine he’s looking at me the way he did the first time we kissed – as though he couldn’t not kiss me. And then his lips are touching mine, asking permission one last time, his tongue ghosting across my open mouth in fear that I might deny him.

Our tongues are battling and I’m straddling his hips, wanting him more desperately than ever before. I discard my shirt and bra without a second thought and tug Tom’s shirt over his head, pressing our bare skin together and feeling his hot skin sear into my flesh. I reach between us to unfasten his pants and stand to remove mine.

He closes a hand gently over the top of my fumbling fingers, stopping me in my tracks. Finally I look to his eyes, expecting them to be soft and telling me no. Telling me this isn’t right, we shouldn’t, our last time has already passed.

The fire in his stare is like actual flames licking at my body, at my core. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom where he slides my pants down my legs and off and leaves me naked standing in the middle of his bedroom while he lets his trousers fall to the floor.

Tom lays himself on the bed and before he can invite me to join him I am crawling over him as though I am starving. I hover over his shaft, rubbing my slit over him a few times until I hear him moan. Raising my hips for a moment I guide him between my folds and sink down his length until he fills me and I lean down to kiss his mouth hungrily. As I move slowly over him his head drops back and I kiss and suck at his throat.

My hips grind down on his cock, filling me to the hilt and rubbing at my core with his head. I sit up on him, pushing him deeper, and I see his jaw clench as he looks up at me and his hands knead my breasts. I moan and he moves one hand down between my folds, searching for my clit and rubbing it slowly. Tension builds and I’m overwhelmed – he pinches my nipple and I can hear his hard breathing urging me on as I grind down and his thumb rubs frantically over my clit. Overcome by pleasure I cry out as an intense orgasm crashes over me, fuelled by emotion and desire.

I take Tom’s hands and pull him up to me, our mouths mash together and we move slowly as one, my walls still spasming around him as he moans and breathes into me.

“Bec… stop. We need… we need a…”

I still and stroke his face with my hands, my thumb covering his lips to silence them. “We don’t. It’s ok.” I see my soft smile reflected in his face and he nods, his hands spreading over my back and moving me up and down while our mouths meet again. His lips break away and move to my neck and I can feel him growling and groaning against my skin as his tongue drags under my ear.

“Rebecca,” he breathes, almost a whisper. “I… ohhhh!” He spills inside me and I feel his hot seed filling me, his violent spasms setting me off for a second time.

I lay my head on his shoulder and he strokes my back, and we are frozen.

I don’t recall laying down or falling asleep, but when my alarm buzzes softly next to the pillow at 4am I am entangled in Tom’s arms. He groans and kisses me, softly at first and then with an eagerness I’ve come to recognise, his erection stirring against my leg.

With little delay his tongue is thrusting into my mouth in time with his cock thrusting into my sex, our bodies pressed together and legs entwined even though we have barely moved from the positions we awoke in. He hooks my top leg over his hips and strokes up the inside of my thigh, pushing into me over and over until I come undone with a cry and he spills deep inside me.

I shower and dress quickly, packing the remaining clothes into my suitcase and readying myself for departure. Tom brings me tea while I am bringing the bags to do the door and pulls me into a tight hug, planting a kiss on my hair. We drink in silence, watching the clock tick over until the cab arrives, and share one last warm kiss before I have to tear myself away. I barely hold myself together and I can see Tom’s eyes glistening as he blows me a kiss from the door and the cab pulls away. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mention of potential miscarriage

Never in my life have I endured a flight like this one. It’s turbulent, there are times I legitimately fear for my life. And it feels all wrong. **  
**

Usually the flight back to Sydney is filled with excitement for me, I will the time to pass quickly because I’m going home to my bed and my house and my world. This time I’m going to Sydney with a heavy heart and a little extra baggage and I feel lost, like I am drifting and don’t belong anywhere. Sleep comes much more easily than I expect even if it only comes in short bursts, and I am wide awake when we land in pouring rain in Sydney.

Loaded up with bags, I fight my way to the front doors to find a cab.

“Becca!” I look up, but I don’t need to see him to know. Nathan takes my luggage in one beefy arm and wraps the other around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head.

“I said I’d get a cab.”

“I know, but I wasn’t busy. I thought you’d rather be driven by a familiar face. How was the flight?”

“Long. Turbulent. Yuck.”

He laughs. “Sounds about right.”

We keep up the small talk in the car but I can’t do it much longer, I feel like every time I open my mouth some terribly kept secret is just going to fly out and punch him in the face. When we’re at the house he makes me tea, and for the first time I notice how warm it is compared to London even though it’s heading into winter. I may have found something I won’t miss: the fact their spring is colder than our winter.

“So how’s London?” He sits on the couch next to me.

“Nath… I’m pregnant.”

I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat.

I’ve never seen Nathan speechless, and if I’m honest I never want to see it again. His expression is disturbing; his brows are furrowed above eyes that are wide with disbelief mixed with terror, and his mouth and jaw are set so firmly I’m not sure he could say anything even if he wanted to.

“I’m sorry. I know the timing sucks, but-”

“What are you going to do?” He whispers.

I stare blankly at him. I expected him to perhaps be furious that I’d expect he’d just take me back, or hurt that I’d only returned to him out of obligation.

The truth is far more painful. He thinks I’m not even going to consider him.

“I’m going to stay, if you’ll have me.”

“Really?” His face softens, and I’m looking into the teary brown eyes of the Nathan I know. My Nathan. The slightest hint of a smile is curling his lips.

“I’m seeing the doctor tomorrow, will you come with me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I yawn and suddenly feel so exhausted I want to just lean back on the couch and sleep for a week.

“Finish your tea and we’ll go to bed. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

He takes me to the bedroom and tucks me into bed like I’m made of glass. I want to tell him I’d planned on taking the guest bed but I don’t have the heart or the energy.

“Sleep, Becca. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He doesn’t get in with me, instead sitting and rubbing my back until I feel myself sinking into sleep. His big warm hands are familiar if nothing else, and I barely move until the sun is breaking through the blinds the next morning.

Nathan is sitting up in bed next to me, and he looks exactly how I felt a few hours ago. Raw and tormented.

“Hey,” he says. “I don’t think you’ve slept that well since I’ve known you.”

“I don’t think I’ve been this tired since you’ve known me. We have to be at the doctor at nine.”

“You’d better get up, then. It’s almost eight. Becca, I know we can’t just go back but we will work this out. I don’t want you to worry.”

“I know we will. Is this what you want? For me to come home?”

“It’s what I always wanted.” I nod and sit up. “That’s not true, what I wanted was for us to want the same thing. I need to ask you before we see the doctor; is this what you want? To come home, have a baby together? Did you consider any other options.”

How do I tell him that I left behind what I wanted, but I’ll learn to live with it?

“I know there are other options, but none that I would consider taking. We did this, Nath. We did this by choice, out of love. So my priorities have shifted.”

* * *

“Becca, Nathan, how lovely to see both of you.” 

Dr Wendy, my GP has been my GP for almost twenty years and has known Nathan from the beginning.  She was there when I got my first script for the pill, she was there when I first started traveling a lot, and she was there when I got the all clear to start trying for a baby. I feel almost like I have a second mother who can also write prescriptions and draw blood. “What can I do for you?”

I know that look in her eye, and she has no doubt in her mind why we’re here. She knows we were trying, and she’d remember even if it wasn’t in my notes.

“I’m preg-,”  _Smile. Smile. Stops the gag reflex. Smile._  “Pregnant. I think.”  _Thank you CSI for that little tip._

“You think? Have you done a test?”

“Yes. It was positive.”

She’s trying to hide her excitement behind her professional exterior, but the cracks are there.

“When was your last period, sweetie?” She opens her top drawer and pulls out a specimen jar, and I immediately wish I’d drunk more water this morning. Can she tell how much caffeine I’ve been having from a urine sample? Can she tell I was drinking before I knew?

“The 26th of March.”

“March? That’s… you’d be nine weeks. Have you known for a while?”

“No. I’ve been in London and only realised a few days ago that I’d missed a period.”

“OK. Go pee in this for me and we’ll check. I need to catch up with your hunk of a boyfriend.”

He cringes a little and I shoot him an apologetic look. When I return I hand her the cup and she busies herself at the bench.

“So you’ve been in London for work?”

“Yeah. Almost a month this time. I think I’ll be staying at home from now on, though.”

“Well that’s definitely positive. I’ll get a blood test done today and you can book in with an obstetrician. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

Can you repair my relationship?

“No. Do I need an ultrasound or something?”

“The obstetrician will organise that, probably at 12 weeks. Go home, relax. It’s still very early.”

We walk home in silence, but I can tell Nathan wants to say something. Probably many somethings.

“I think I’m going to go to the office.”

“What?” He rounds on me and I’m reminded just how broad he is. “We’re not going to talk about it?”

“What’s to talk about? We’re having a baby. It’s done. Sometime around New Year’s we’ll be a family.”

“Becca, what about us? What do we do now?”

“I said I’d come back if you’ll have me, and I will. I never stopped loving you, I just had to shift my focus I guess.”

“So tonight you’re going to climb into bed and be with me like nothing ever happened?”

“God, Nath. I wish we could do that.” I smile at him, because it’s true. I honestly wish we could just go back and have everything right and no one hurt. I will never ever regret the short time I had with Tom, but I wish now I could just make it all ok for all of us.

“We can’t, though. I know we can’t. It will take some time to get it back and see if we can make it work.”

“I’ll move into the guest room tonight. Honestly I would have last night if I had the energy.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Can I go to work now?”

“Sure,” he waves his hand dramatically. “I know you’ll go crazy otherwise.”

The week, and thankfully the jetlag, passes quickly in a blur of work and phone calls to obstetricians and ultrasound rooms. On the weekend I get my first chance to really unpack and make the guest room a little more mine. While I’m standing on the ladder attaching a light fitting Nathan appears in the doorway and yells so loud I almost lose my footing.

“Becca! What are you doing?”

“Fuck, you frightened the hell out of me. I’m hanging a light shade, what does it look like?”

“You shouldn’t be on a ladder!”

“I’m not crippled.”

“What if you fall?”

“I won’t if you don’t yell at me.”

“Promise me after this you’ll rest? You’ve been here almost a week and you’ve hardly stopped.”

“I’ll think about it. I feel better if I stay busy.”

“No, you feel better while you’re in denial.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m doing my best.”

“Just sit for a while when you’re done. Have a nap or something.”

“Yes, boss.”

When I’m satisfied there’s nothing left to do, I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. For a while I try not to think about Tom but quickly my mind wanders back to him and I wonder what he’s doing, if he’s missing me, if he’s angry. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again, if things will work out with Nathan, and a dull ache is radiating from my lower back and abdomen.

After a couple of hours I give up, resigned to the fact I’m not resting today, and decide on some paracetamol and a warm bath in the hope I might sleep after dinner.

“I’ll run it,” Nathan insists. “You sit.”

The thing is, I hate sitting and doing nothing. I like to be busy and I hate depending on anyone. This was a constant battle with Nathan who likes to think he’s taking care of his woman and all that. And don’t even start me on people telling me what to do!

“I can run my own bath,” I say stubbornly.

“Becca,” I see his jaw clench, and his fists are crushed together. He looks down at me and softens, lowering his voice. “Are you trying to overexert yourself so you won’t have to deal with being pregnant?”

If I have to answer him it’s going to be with a sharp upper cut, so instead I push past to the bathroom. I sit in the warm bath, stewing in my own anger until I can’t avoid him anymore and slowly growing more angry because I’ve wasted a perfectly relaxing bath being pissed off.

How dare he!

I stand in front of the mirror and turn to the side, still in awe that there can possibly be a tiny person in my almost flat stomach. While I dry myself off I notice a spot of blood on the towel but ignore it when I’m unable to find it’s origin.

I’ve ignored Nathan and got myself ready for bed without bothering with dinner. It’s only when I use the toilet before I get into bed that I find more blood. Enough to make panic twist my stomach in a knot.

He thinks I did this. He’s going to blame me for the rest of our lives.

I throw on a comfy dress and find him in the kitchen. “Nath, listen. I know I said I wasn’t ready for this, and the truth is I’m not. But it’s happening. You know me, and you know I’d never do anything to threaten it. You know that, right?”

“Yes. Come here.” he sighs and wraps his arms around me. “I’m just worried something will happen and it will be our only chance gone.”

“The obstetrician said if anything happened, if I was worried, I should go straight to the hospital.”

“Is something happening?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Let’s go, then. I’ll drive.”


	16. Chapter 16

I hate hospitals. There’s no ‘I watched someone close to me die’ or ‘they stuffed up and I almost died’ justification for it, I just don’t find them particularly pleasant.

It’s the waiting.

Waiting for an answer, waiting whether you know what’s going to happen or you don’t, no matter whether you’re in mild discomfort or doubled over in pain. Whether your pain is physical and obvious or hidden beneath the surface. A gaping chest wound or a breaking heart.

We all have to wait together.

Nathan holds my hand and rubs my back and tells me everything will be fine between scolding me for climbing a ladder and pushing myself too hard. But his eyes are soft, wide with worry for me and the baby, that the hope he’s felt the last few days might be disappearing before him and there’s nothing he can do.

I occasionally see his empty hand ball into a fist, the muscles in his arm clenching and almost shaking with the effort. When it does I reach over and stroke his hand gently until he relaxes it again and gives me a resigned smile.

He wants to take care of me and make it all better, and he can’t.

We have to wait.

After an hour a midwife comes down from maternity and takes us to a small consultation room. She takes my history and gently tells us that they will do an ultrasound as soon as someone is available, but the result won’t change the outcome. There is nothing any doctor, midwife or miracle worker can do at this point except tell us what’s going to happen. I might well be miscarrying, I might not. They don’t know, we don’t know, and even when we do it won’t change our course.

We have to wait. We’ll wait another seven months, or we’ll wait a few days, and we still have to wait to find out which path will be ours.

I hate hospitals.

I’m dozing on and off while Nathan browses away on his phone and I know he feels worse than ever now because of what the lovely woman in teddy bear scrubs has just told us. You can’t do anything. You can’t change it. No one can.

Finally the door squeaks open just after 2am.

“Hi Rebecca, Nathan, I’m Susan. I’m so sorry we’ve kept you waiting so long, it’s been a busy night. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. The same, just a bit crampy.”

“You’ve had some bleeding?”

“A little, yes.”

“Alright. Show me your tummy and we’ll have a look.” She switches on the machine and squirts cold gel just below my navel. “Has someone already talked to you about the possible complications we’re looking for?”

“Sort of.” Nathan says. He’s squeezing my hand almost uncomfortably and I give it a gentle pat so he relaxes.

“What I’m looking for is firstly that the embryo has attached to the wall of your uterus and it’s not in a fallopian tube or too close to your cervix. Secondly at this gestation we should be able to get a heartbeat; if we don’t it can mean it’s too early in which case I’ll look at the size and we might switch to an internal ultrasound, otherwise if the measurements are right for nine weeks it may mean that it’s no longer viable. That would be a miscarriage. If there is a heartbeat and everything’s fine – and it might be – bleeding can be caused by lots of things at this stage and it might not be anything to worry about. Are you ready?”

That’s a loaded question if ever I heard one. Ready to be pregnant, ready to find out, ready to accept that whatever is happening is actually happening? Either way… not really.

“Yes.”

At first I watch the screen, looking for some kind of clue, but nothing I can see looks remotely like a baby or a kidney bean so I look up at Susan’s face instead. I’m fairly sure she’s been trained to be expressionless and would make an excellent poker player.

“Ok. Implantation is good. That’s important because the alternative can be life threatening for you and we’d be looking at emergency surgery.” I nod and watch her pressing buttons and then hear a thrumming sort of whooshing sound. And she smiles at me.

“That sound you’re hearing is your baby’s heartbeat. Good and strong, the rate is good. From what I can see everything is fine. You do have a small clot which is probably the source of the bleeding but it’s nothing to worry about. You’re on track for nine weeks.”

How can something the size of a kidney bean have a beating heart? A tiny, working, beating heart that I can actually hear. That doesn’t make any sense.

Susan now has a sort of amused expression, like she’s waiting for a light bulb to go on above my head or a little ding to signal that my brain is done working.

“Did you say everything is fine?”

“I sure did. Unfortunately I can’t give you pretty pictures from this machine, but from what I can see everything is fine. This is your baby,” she points to a tiny grey blob on the screen inside a black oval. “And this little flickering thing is your baby’s heart.”

I look over at Nathan and he’s mirroring my shock.

“So, you can get dressed and you’re free to go. Take your time. Try to rest a bit but really, there’s nothing to worry about. Come back if it gets heavier or you’re in a lot of pain.”

“Thank you,” I whisper as she’s leaving.

My big soft teddy bear is blubbering in the chair next to me and that’s when I realise she actually did say there’s nothing wrong. I’m not losing the baby, I haven’t done anything wrong.

“We’re having a baby, boof. This is really happening.”

I get up gently off the bed and sit on his lap and he wraps me tight in his arms while I sob into his shoulder. I’ve been so prepared for the worst since we arrived that the relief is entirely overwhelming.

* * *

After the hospital scare, Nathan insisted I cut back on work and take it easy. God help me when he makes me stop working, I need to keep my mind busy. The look on his face when I mention an event I’d like to cover in Tokyo is still haunting me, and I’ve cut back to three full days in the office and one at home. Inevitably the one turns into two but since he’s still at work every day he doesn’t need to know.

The Australian winter has arrived with a vengeance and although the cold doesn’t bother me I feel like a gale force wind has been blowing for most of the month I’ve been back. Thankfully winter means chunky sweaters that hide the fact my pants are getting uncomfortable on my slightly swollen waist.

We’re sitting on the couch after dinner when he turns off the television and faces me.

“I was watching that,”

“I need to talk to you.”

I know where this is going. It’s been a month, we’ve talked about sharing the news after my 12 week tests are all done tomorrow. He’s hinted at me moving back in properly, into his bed. Our bed. We’ve kissed a couple of times and I know he wants more but I have the same problem that seems to have plagued me since I can remember.

I don’t know what I want.

“Becca?”

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

“I need to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling.”

“I love you. I always will, you know that. Just over a month ago we’d grown so far apart that we broke up over the phone from opposite sides of the world, so it’s going to take a bit of adjustment.”

“I welcomed you back, Becca. You moved back in like nothing ever happened and I gave you nothing but support and love and open arms. I need some sort of sign that I’m doing the right thing here!”

“I gave up everything to come back to you, because I knew how it would break your heart if I stayed in London with your baby. All of my plans, all of my dreams, the job I loved and the promotion I earned. It’s all gone, and I’ll never have it. Nothing has changed for you, except you’re getting what you wanted. Me not travelling for work anymore and staying at home with our child. The child you so desperately wanted, the one you pestered and pressured me six months for. It’s coming, Nathan. If I deliver a week early you’ll even be a dad for Christmas. When we toast the new year, I won’t be a professional with a career any more, I won’t be a writer or photographer or editor. I’ll be a mother.”

“If I’d known you’d be so bitter, if I’d known you’d stay in the guest room instead of actually being my partner, I’d have told you not to bother.”

“Oh, I see. So I can be a single mother to the baby that was your idea?”

Hot tears prickle the back of my eyes and I’m so angry my hands shake. I never intended to throw all of this back at him but now I’ve started I can’t stop. His face is contorted in frustration and I know I should just shut up but my brain is in overdrive.

“I’ve sacrificed everything so you could have your precious little family, so we could be together and have this baby. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a bit of time to get back into the swing of things with you!”

“If you didn’t want a baby why did you say yes?” His voice is low, soft and restrained and I know I’ve hurt him. His face rests wearily in his hand and he’s looking out the window rather than look at me.

“Because I love you, and I know how important it was to you. I didn’t realise you meant straight away but then you were so happy and so excited I just couldn’t tell you.”

The long silence stretches between us like a canyon opening up ready to swallow us both whole.

“What happened to us, Bec? When did we become so guarded with our words that we stopped being honest?”

“I think we grew up.” I whisper.

Nathan finally looks at me and I see tears in his eyes, he pulls me into a hug and then somehow our lips are pressed together. Our tongues meet with a passion I barely remember, and his hands go straight under my shirt to pull me against him.

He pulls back and eyes me warily, and I catch the hem of his tshirt to tug it over his head while he does the same with mine. I straddle his thighs and our mouths crash together while our hands explore one another’s bodies as though it is the first time. He unclasps my bra and takes my heavy breasts in his huge hands, rubbing them against his bare chest and making me moan into his mouth.

This is not our usual routine, and I realise with a little sadness that we haven’t undressed each other since I can remember. For years we have slept naked together, and for years we’ve had what I thought was a good sex life because it was more regular than average. More often than not, we go to bed and one of us initiates with a kiss or a touch in the right spot, we alternate being on top and go to sleep sated after exactly one orgasm each. Every time. I’m sure we’ve had sex outside of the bedroom but I can’t for the life of me recall when or how, and of course there’s the occasional drunk blow job that usually gets reciprocated. I pull my lips away and look into Nathan’s big brown eyes, running my fingers gently through his hair.

What happened to us? We were so in love, so crazy about one another, so infatuated.

I stand up on the floor and hold my hands out to pull him to his feet, pushing his shorts down to the floor and eyeing his erection while he pushes my skirt and panties down to pool at my feet. I press against him and nudge him back onto the couch to straddle him again while I stroke his length and it hardens and throbs in my hand. I can’t wait any longer, I bring his head between my folds and sink down onto him, making him gasp and bite his lip as I take his length. “Christ, Bec,” he hisses in my ear and kisses my neck and I feel his hand move between us, finding my throbbing clit and thrumming against it with his thumb.

I move against him slow and deep until I can feel him tensing and bucking under me. He increases the pressure on my clit and takes my nipple in his mouth and I am overcome with wave after wave of orgasm, spasming around his cock as he fills me with seed.

Nathan brushes the hair back from my face and kisses me softly.

“When you kiss me, I am a teenager in love all over again.” I tell him. “I wish we could go back to that. Our hearts making all those promises we couldn’t keep. Saying we’d always follow the other’s dreams, never be apart. You’d go out and do your math stuff during the day, come home every night to me and the kids in our perfect little suburban home.”

“That was the dream, wasn’t it? Dreams are strange things.”

He’s silent for a minute, running his knuckles over my belly.

“I don’t want you to make all the sacrifices, we’re in this together. Maybe we can both work part time or something. We’ll work it out. I’m sorry I pushed you into this before you were ready.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. What are we going to do, boof?”

“I don’t know, beautiful girl. I don’t know.”

I bury my head in his shoulder and tears flow freely from my eyes and down his chest. For a long time he holds me close to him and whispers into my ear, rubbing my back as though I am a fragile infant. When I start to doze off he lifts me up and I pull on his tshirt, letting him lead me to bed.

I don’t know it at the time, but this will be one of only three nights I spend in our bed. Tonight, the night I came home, and the night of our baby’s due date.


	17. Chapter 17

I’m standing in the kitchen enjoying the light breeze marking the end of a hot and humid day. The sounds of celebration float in with the wind, alerting me to the fact that the day is a special one full of reflection and gazing forward into the year ahead.

“New year’s eve would be a pretty cool birthday, huh?” I say to Nathan. He has his head in the fridge and I’m not sure he hears me.

“It sure would. Found it.” He says triumphantly holding up a bottle of Moet. As the fridge door closes I see the calendar and notice BABY! written in large green letters on today’s date. I feel a twisting deep in my stomach and absentmindedly rub just below my navel.

Nathan hands me a glass and I watch the infinite flow of bubbles rising from the bottom and bursting at the top before I take a sip and feel it fizz down my throat.

“I was saving that just in case you came home. And then you couldn’t drink it.” Nathan laughs, setting the bottle down on the bench. “Are you all packed?” He gestures to the large suitcase at the door.

“Yes. And ready as I’ll ever be. Are you sure you don’t mind dropping me off in the morning? It’s early and you’d probably rather sleep in.”

“Of course I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m out partying tonight and will be hungover. Are you nervous? Excited?”

“Both. I’m finally doing it.”

“And you’ll be great. I’m really glad you stayed, Becca. I know you could have gone a couple of months ago.”

“I think we needed some time and we needed to do this together, don’t you?”

“I do. I’m excited for you. Prue must be getting excited to see you.”

“I think between Prue and Rach I’ve had twenty texts today. They’re so sweet, I’ve missed them.”

“Not much longer and you’ll see them.”

We sit on the back deck and finish the rest of the bottle against a soundtrack of party whistles and terrible renditions of Auld Lang Syne. When midnight strikes we can see the sky lighting up with fireworks over the harbour, hear the explosions piercing the night like gun fire. Nathan looks over at me with tears in his eyes and takes my hand.

“I will always love you, Bec. Remember that. What you’ve been through this year; the shock, the guilt, the hospital stays, the grief, the healing, has just shown me how strong you are. So go to London and make your dreams happen.”

“I love you, too. I’m always just a phone call away if you need to talk. I wouldn’t have got through without you.” I smile at him as the deep boom of the fireworks slows and stops, leaving the sky hazy with smoke. “I think we did us proud. Us and our baby boy. You are going to make a fantastic dad one day, Nath.”

“We did, didn’t we. We should get to bed if you have to be at the airport at seven.”

That night we huddle together in our bed for the last time. Not as a couple, but as grieving parents trying to get through a tough landmark day, clinging to someone familiar to ride out the storm.

* * *

When February rolls around I’m getting the hang of properly living in London, even to the point where my flat has furniture and a kitchen I regularly cook meals in. After a discussion with Rachel about my hot mess state last time around she convinced me to have a minor image adjustment, so I’ve cut my hair to my shoulders and had some highlights and it literally makes me feel lighter than when I arrived.

We’re sitting in a cafe on a lazy Saturday morning, chatting animatedly about the charming man she’s been dating when she looks over my shoulder and the colour drains from her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hi. Rachel, right?”

“Y-yes. Tom, hello.”

My head whips around so fast I think I’m going to need a neck brace. “Becca? Oh my god I didn’t recognise you!”

For a few painfully awkward seconds neither of us moves, we’re both just frozen in something between horror and pleasant surprise.

Eventually I stand out of my chair and he quickly hugs me as though he’s making sure I’m not just an illusion. “I didn’t know you were back!”

“Yep. Here I am.”

“Do you still have the same number? Could we possibly catch up for a chat?”

He looks amazing, I don’t know where he’s been but that tan didn’t come from London. And his scent is the same familiar and intoxicating mix of cologne and Tom. My brain has ceased all functions and is displaying the ‘technical difficulties - we apologise for the inconvenience’ pattern test you see on television sometimes.

“Of course. After work or on a weekend?”

“Sounds lovely. I’m home until the end of March, so plenty of time. It’s really good to see you.”

“You too.”

I sort of collapse back into my chair and shoot down Rachel’s bemused look. “Shut up.”

“He still likes you.”

“I’m not going there again. I can’t. I’m not ready for anything like that.”

“I understand, honey. I mean I don’t, but I’m listening. I’m really sorry Bec, I feel like I don’t know what to say.”

“It was six months ago, it’s ok. We can talk about it, we can not, I’m doing ok.”

“Must have been hell.”

“It was.”

* * *

In the middle of a busy day, in the middle of a busy week, in the middle of a busy month, in what I hope is the beginning of a busy year, Tom calls. His contact entry still says Puddles and I consider not answering because I know I’ll have to be very brief.

“Hi Tom. Listen, I have to talk quickly I’m really busy.”

“Oh. I can call back another time if you like.”

“No I just didn’t want you to think I was being short with you.”

“Ok. Well I was hoping we might catch up when you’re free. How about tomorrow after work?”

“Lovely. Do you want me to come to you?”

“How about I pick you up at the office?”

“Sure, ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

My days are positively flying at this point; I’m in charge of online features as well as writing my own articles and photography. And I love every second.

When Tom arrives the following afternoon I’m already watching the door with my bag ready to go, I still haven’t told Prue about Tom. In fact the only person in my life who knows the whole story of the past year is Rachel.

She’s about to be one of two people.

“So,” he says when we’re in the car. “My place or yours?”

“Mine is much more modest, but it’s mine. Permanently.”

He’s staring at me. “You moved here?”

“Yeah. About a month ago.”

“Seems I have a lot to catch up on.”

We sit down on the couch with tea and he looks at me expectantly. I’d rather not lead with what I plan to, but he deserves the truth straight up.

“A lot has happened, but I need to start at the beginning. When I left last year… actually when I arrived last year, I was pregnant. I didn’t know.”

His face has dropped and I can see his eyes wandering subtly around the room looking for evidence of a child.

“At any time if you want to go out the door and never think of me again, I’ll understand.” I sip my tea and continue, Tom remains silent and uncomfortable. “Nathan and I had been trying to get pregnant for months, not seriously trying, but he wanted to. It hadn’t happened and I didn’t think it was going to, when I agreed to it I didn’t realise he wanted a baby so soon. It turns out when I left Sydney, I was already pregnant. And the whole time I was here.” I’m waiting for a reaction and wonder if it’s going to be a quiet storm out the door or he might throw something at me and yell. Anything would be preferable to silence and a blank stare at this point.

“The last time we were together, before I left… I knew then. I’d done a test, and that’s why I went back. I’m so sorry, Tom. I couldn’t tell you the truth, but I shouldn’t have been with you that night when I knew.”

He stands up slowly and I look down at my feet. I’m so sure he’s going to walk out the door that I don’t even look up until he clears his throat. He’s standing behind the couch, rubbing his jaw with one hand and leaning heavily on the back of the couch with the other. “What happened? Where’s…”

“I can explain, but I can’t do it if you’re going to walk away at the end. Please, if you’re going out the door, do it now.”

His face softens. “I’m not going anywhere, Bec.” He sits back down next to me and I take a deep breath.

“When I first saw the doctor, everything was fine. We even had a trip to emergency and they did an ultrasound, and we saw our baby boy for the first time. He was 9 weeks and 5 days and his little heart was pounding away perfectly. But then when I had the next one at 13 weeks, something wasn’t right. His heart rate had dropped a bit and the doctor was a bit concerned with his measurements, so they ordered a follow up with a specialist a few days later. When we got there and they started the ultrasound, his little heart had stopped.” Tom reaches over and puts his hand over mine. “He was just shy of 14 weeks.”

“Bec, oh god. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.” I can hear the tremble in his voice as he strokes my hand and hurriedly wipes his cheek.

“I got really sick after the first surgery and had to have another two and three weeks in hospital. When I went home Nathan had to look after me for almost a month I was so weak. Neither of us really got a chance to grieve for almost two months. And when we did, we realised we love one another but we weren’t in love anymore. We healed and got through it and decided I would stay until New Year’s - what should have been my due date – and then come back here. We took our time and did it properly this time, no rush decisions or harsh words. And here I am.”

Tears are flowing freely now, and he pulls me into a hug against his chest and kisses the top of my head. “Oh, Becca.”

“I’m sorry for what happened, I should never have let myself get involved. If I’d known I’d end up hurting you-”

“I know. It’s ok. None of that compares to what you’ve been through.”

“I didn’t think you’d speak to me again.”

“Darling, please. I was hurt, don’t get me wrong, but I wasn’t angry with you. How long has it been? When did all of this happen?”

“Early July. It’s been seven months. Tom, I need you to know that if you want more than a friend we can’t just go back. I can’t do that again. Maybe if we go very slowly, but I can’t fathom anything serious right now.”

“If you’d prefer to be friends I can do that. I’d love to have more of you than that, but I’m not going to push you. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re a very forgiving man, Thomas.”

“Not to everyone. You’re special.”

“Would you like some dinner? I have a fully functioning kitchen.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure it functions? It’s worked for me so far.” I shrug and laugh.

“Yes, please. That would be lovely. Do you need me to go and get anything?”

“Nope. There’s beer and wine in the fridge, if you want anything stronger Rach put them away and I’m not sure where. You’re welcome to look, though.”

“Beer is good.”

Just like that, I am forgiven. If there were more Tom Hiddlestons in the world, it would be a happier place. Moving around the kitchen and chatting to him is like spending time with an old friend and before long all the tension I’ve been carrying around since I arrived is slowly draining away.

“Are you ok now? Physically ok?”

“Yeah. There might be some internal scarring that needs to be removed later if I want to try again. If the third surgery wasn’t successful I could have lost everything.”

“Do you… do they know… would you rather not talk about it?”

“I’ve had seven months to process it, Tom. It’s ok. It hurts, but I’m ok talking about it.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“There was a chromosomal abnormality, he wasn’t developing properly. Just one of those things that’s out of our control.”

“No one should have to go through that.”

“No. So what’s new with you?”

“Let’s see. I made two films while you were gone and promoted another. I have a few weeks off and then I’m back to the States to film another one.”

“I love how you say ‘made two films’ like you did it single-handedly.”

“Oh, I did, darling. It’s all me.”

“Arrogant bastard, you are.”

He laughs.

“It was good, though. Kept my mind off… well, you. That’s about it, really. I’m learning lines right now, doing some reading and researching. You should see my office at the moment, I’ve started sticking things on the ceiling because the walls are full.”

“Must be one hell of a role.”

“It is.”

“It’s not Bond, is it?”

“Ehehehe, no. There’s a bit of action man though. It’s a little bit different.” He takes a mouthful of food and then smiles at me. “I can’t believe you’re here. For real, and living here.”

“Me either. It feels strange to unpack things and get settled. Good, though.”

When Tom has to leave, he hesitates at the door. “Could we, maybe… If I asked you on a date, would that be ok? Can we date? Or do you want to go slower than that?”

“We could date. I might say yes.”

“Ok. I might ask you, then. I’ll talk to you soon.” He kisses my cheek so gently, and a part of me wants to pull him in and kiss him.

And then he’s closing the door and he’s gone.

When I get out of the shower a while later my phone is ringing.

“Hello, Puddles. What’s up?”

“I was hoping you might let me take you out for dinner this weekend.”

“Why didn’t you just ask while you were here?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a yes,”

“Lovely. I will pick you up at seven, we’ll have a nice dinner and I will drop you off at your door with exactly five minutes allocated for a goodnight kiss as per first date protocol.”

“Five minutes? That’s quite a kiss!”

“That’s how we do it in Britain, my lady.”

“I see. Well then, can’t ignore protocol. I’ll see you on Saturday?”

“Yes you will. Until then, sleep well.”

The big dork has me smiling from ear to ear just thinking about it.


	18. Chapter 18

When I arrive at work the following morning Prue looks to be in a bit of a state, flailing around her office with a phone jammed into her shoulder. I might call her McBitchypants, but she generally prefers harsh words over volume, so to hear her raise her voice is a little frightening. I sneak past her door to my office and she’s in my doorway a few minutes later.  
“Everything’s wrong, Bec!”  
“What? What’s wrong?”  
“Everything!”  
She slumps in the chair and looks like she might cry. Prue doesn’t cry. Ever.  
“The wedding invitations should have gone out last week, the printer won’t have them ready for another week because they fucked up. No one’s going to come!”  
I have to stifle a laugh. “Ok. We’ll work it out, just breathe. Firstly, sack the printer. Cancel it. We’ll do them here. Show me the design and we’ll get them done today.”  
“We’re too busy.”  
“I’ll pick up some slack at home, it’s fine. Show them to me. Is that who you were yelling at?”  
“No that was Henry. He told me I was overreacting.”  
I can’t hold it in anymore. Hard as I try, a strangled sort of snort comes out before I can clap a hand over my mouth.  
“Please don’t yell at me. It’s scary.”  
“You think I’m overreacting?”  
“I think you should probably go now before you end up firing me.”  
She turns on her heel and walks off, I’m pretty sure I can hear her huffing all the way to her office and I have to close the door so she doesn’t hear me giggle.  
Bridezilla McBitchypants is in the house.  
I have a meeting on Skype for most of the morning with the team in Sydney and thankfully Prue has calmed down by the time I’m done.  
“I was overreacting.”  
“Yes, sweetheart, you were. Just a little. Did you apologise to Henry?”  
“Yeah. That poor, patient man.”  
“This is the invitation?” I pick up a matte silver card from her desk, decorated around the edges with black lace and beautiful script font in the centre.  
“Yes. I spoke to the printers and they’re giving me a full refund. I’m still screwed, though.”  
“No you’re not. We can knock these over easily, leave it with me.”  
That evening Rachel and I sit on my floor with takeaway Chinese, surrounded by various sized silver cards, envelopes, cutting implements and black satin ribbon.  
“Good thing it’s not a huge wedding,” Rachel laughs, sipping at a glass of wine and putting it carefully on the coffee table.  
“Have you ever heard her yell? Henry will be getting one hell of an apology tonight I think.”  
“No, thank god. Her words were bad enough for me.”  
After a few minutes working in silence I can feel her eyes on me. “What?”  
“I’m trying to judge your emotional state. Am I allowed to mention Tom?”  
“My emotional state is fine, thanks. We’re going out on a date, actually.”  
“So you’re back together?”  
“We’re going to see how it goes. I can’t get straight into anything after what happened. But I’ve told him everything and he didn’t walk out the door so that’s a good sign. I would have walked out on me for sure.”  
“You weren’t to know.”  
“Rach I slept with him the night before I left. After I knew. Twice.”  
“That was more information than I needed.” She giggles. “He must be good.”  
“We are not going there. You can see why I expected him to just walk away, though.”  
“He’s obviously very forgiving and cares about you a lot.”  
“Or he knows I’m easy.”  
“Becca!”  
“He’ll be in for a rude shock if he thinks that. Sex is the last thing on my mind right now. The thought makes me nauseous.”  
“You’ve been through a lot, go easy on yourself.”  
“The thing is, I was with Nathan for so long and then Tom… I think I’ve sort of lost a part of me in all of this. The woman who was with Tom, who found it so easy to go straight from one man to another, that wasn’t me. I think I was scrambling, searching for a foothold while my relationship was crumbling under my feet.”  
“And now?”  
“Now I need to not rush anything. Nathan and I ended it six months ago but we also stayed in the same house so this is the first time I’ve really been on my own since high school. It’s scary but it’s new and exciting, too.”  
“I give it a week and the novelty will wear off. Tom will sweep you off your feet and it will be your wedding invitations we’re making.”  
“I doubt it.” I snort. “What about you?”  
“Actually, there’s a guy from accounting that keeps flirting with me. He’s cute, smart, funny. We’ll see.”  
“Sounds promising.”  
“Yeah, but accounting? I don’t know.”  
“I can assure you sweetie there is nothing wrong with a man that likes numbers. Nathan works for the tax office, which would have turned me off instantly if we hadn’t already been together. Don’t knock it til you try it.”  
“Maybe I’ll try it then, see how it fits.”  
“This conversation is getting weird now, Rach.”  
When I arrive at the office the next morning I put an archive box on Prue’s desk, wrapped in thick black ribbon with a silver bow on top. I know she’ll be here in a few minutes, so I race to get coffee for both of us.  
I come back with two lattes and find her holding an envelope with tears streaming down her face. She looks up at me and clutches it to her chest.  
“Are they ok?” I ask nervously.  
“Honey they’re perfect, they’re beautiful, they’re more than I ever would have asked you to do. Thank you.” She wraps me in a tight hug.  
“You’re welcome. I never want to see another roll of that ribbon as long as I live. Or a guillotine.”  
“I love the way you tied them all together, the printer wasn’t even going to do that. The invitation, the rsvp, the gift registry card, the directions… they’re all just perfect. I can not thank you enough.”  
“That look on your face is enough. Anything else need taking care of? Flowers? Dresses?”  
“No. Now there will be people actually coming to the wedding everything else is under control. I’m going to drink this and then go to the post box. You saved my ass, Bec.”  
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for me.” I smile, it feels good to do something good for someone else.  
“Got anything planned for the weekend?” I’m glad Prue has relaxed since yesterday.  
“Not much. I have a date on Saturday.”  
“Really? Who is he?”  
I’ve probably put this off for long enough, now. I take a deep breath and brace myself in case she starts yelling again.  
“Well the thing is… Last year, remember I photographed Tom Hiddleston?”  
“No.”  
“No, you don’t remember?”  
“No, you’re not going to tell me you’re dating him.”  
“Um… I was kind of seeing him before. Before I found out I was pregnant.”  
“After you broke up with Nathan.”  
“Mostly, yes.”  
“Mostly? Becca! It’s one thing to have a relationship with a client, but did you consider either of your reputations?”  
“I- well, I-” No, to be honest. I didn’t. “We kissed. And then I told him there couldn’t be any more. Actually I told him I was leaving the country. Then I broke up with Nathan before anything else. It was only a few weeks and then I was pregnant and back in Sydney.”  
“Does he know?”  
“Everything.”  
“Does Nathan?”  
“About Tom? No. I considered it for a long time, but all it would do is hurt him.”  
“And now you’re dating.”  
“We’re not dating… we’re going out for dinner. Once. And we’ll see where it goes from there. Wherever it goes it will be going there very slowly.”  
“Fucking hell, Bec,” she says with a grin. “You might have made a mess of things but at least you did it with someone like Tom.”  
I want to be offended but I can’t help laughing.  
Wrapped tight in my doona that night I listen to the freezing late winter wind howling outside and remember a time I couldn’t sleep without Nathan. When I first started to travel a lot, I’d barely sleep until I was back at home in his arms. And now here I am, in my own flat with a whole queen bed to myself.  
For the first time in my life, I’m enjoying it. I used to fear anything happening that would result in me being alone, and now I wonder why. I wonder how long Nathan and I held on to one another purely because we were afraid to be alone, how much time we wasted hurting one another when we could have been enjoying our own lives.  
I can’t answer that, I honestly don’t know. I feel independent and free from all of that fear, I’ve been through the hell of losing a baby and a 16 year relationship in the space of a few months and come out the other side.  
Not unscathed, I assume the emotional scars will always remain. The fear of being alone, the horror that I might not be married with children in the foreseeable future, has dissipated as my body healed. As though my mind realised that if I can survive the past year I have nothing to be afraid of.  
I’m not admitting that out loud, though. The universe has a way of throwing you a nightmare when you think you’re living in a dream.  
The wind is still howling on Saturday afternoon, and I simply cannot fathom people wandering around London in this cold wearing any less than 15 layers. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this cold.  
I spend an hour trying to decide what to wear, wanting to aim a little higher than my usual winter uniform of jeans, boots and coat without turning into a human icicle. I settle on a knee length knit dress with knee high boots and thick tights, and a leather trench coat. It’s my favourite thing I ever purchased in London, way back when I first came here all those years ago. Soft, well-worn, and totally worth every cent and every moment of guilt I had after buying it on impulse. It’s like a familiar hug from an old friend.  
My hair hates the wind. Not because it gets blown around, but because it straightens out just enough to look like a five year old who tried to use her mummy’s flat iron. Or curlers. It’s impossible to tell, it’s that bad. I had a phase a few years ago where I tried straightening and it lasted a few weeks but I just don’t think I’m that way inclined. I’m more of a effortless ponytail that looks like a poodle tail kind of girl. In the end I wet it in the shower and let the steam curl it back up and then load it with product before I put it up and let a few curls fall around my face. At least it will look ok until we go outside. First impressions are important even if you’ve already had sex, aren’t they?  
One last look in the mirror before I get my bag and coat and I find myself absent-mindedly running my fingers over my lower abdomen. I still have a slight swell as though my belly had popped outward in preparation and is putting up some kind of protest by refusing to recede. In truth the infection I developed caused more of a swollen belly than pregnancy ever had the chance to, and no amount of crunches will make it go away now.  
No one else would notice, it’s perfectly normal not to have a flat stomach, even if you work as hard as I do to keep it as close as possible – because I have an inappropriate love for rich food. But I do. I don’t need reminders of James, our beautiful boy who wasn’t meant to make it to earth, I am reminded of him constantly. I certainly don’t need reminders of the physical hell that followed. If I could just beat that little paunch into submission, I would.  
Instead of put on a pair of granny underpants that hold it in for me. Almost the same thing.  
Tom knocks on the door at seven sharp and I suspect he’s been sitting in the car waiting for his clock to hit 6:59.


	19. Chapter 19

Tom hands me a single red rose and kisses my cheek lightly, his scent fills my nose and his scruff tickles my face.

“Hello, darling. You look lovely.”

“Thank you. So do you.” His cornflower blue shirt has his eyes shining a deep bright blue and he has the collar of his pea coat turned up against the wind. I bring the rose to my face and inhale, I know he didn’t steal it from the garden next door because it doesn’t have any perfume at all. That wouldn’t really be Tom’s style, would it?

“Are you ready to go?” I nod and get my coat and bag from behind the door. We walk a couple of blocks to a tiny restaurant I didn’t know existed and I’m fairly sure we’ve just crossed a portal into Italy.

“Wow. I need to get to know my neighbourhood better.”

“Hehe. This was recommended to me last year otherwise I’d never have known about it.”

Once we’re seated I look over my menu at him and he gives me a bemused frown.

“What?”

“You don’t bring all your dates here, do you?”

“You are the first date I’ve ever brought here. The only other time was with Emma.”

“Good.”

“How’s work?”

“Busy. Good busy. Prue’s freaking out about the wedding, Rach and I pulled an all-nighter making invitations this week. There was wine involved, it’s amazing they all look the same.”

“I’d love to see you and Rachel on a big night.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It gets messy.”

“Do you want to get married?”

The immediate horror on his face makes it worth the shock, because I know he was just making conversation and he doesn’t know I know. You know?

“Sure, pick a date.”

“Sorry. That’s probably not something you wanted to answer.”

“It’s ok, really. You going to ask if I want more babies, too?”

He smiles and looks down but I can still see the pink blush in his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“I do, by the way. One day. In the very distant future. In a galaxy far, far, away. Do you?”

“Yeah. One day, I mean. It’s all a bit pointless the way I’m working right now. I could have a wife and kids I barely see but that doesn’t really appeal to me.”

“You pretty well could, too. I dare you to walk out on the street and propose to the next woman that walks past. I bet she’d accept.”

“Now, now. I doubt it.”

“Go on, then.”

“Point taken. But where’s the fun if there’s no build up?”

“Ahh, so you like the thrill of the chase and then move on?”

“Am I talking to journo Bec right now?”

“No, I’m just curious. Have I hit a nerve?”

“You’re not going to quote me, are you?”

“Tom, come on. I do have some morals, despite evidence to the contrary.”

“Well then, if it was just the thrill of the chase would I still be thinking about you all day when I’ve already had you?”

That stops me short. He thinks about me all day?

“What just happened?”

“I don’t know. I think my snark monster escaped her cage for a minute. Sorry.”

“It’s not the chase, it’s the whole adventure. The whole great odyssey of a love so great you can not live without the other person. The epic of a relationship so solid that it lasts a lifetime, even beyond life.”

I watch him while he sips his wine, a slight furrow in his brow and sincerity in his clear blue eyes. He means every word and he deserves his dreams, but I don’t think he’s looking in the right place when he looks at me.

“What’s wrong?” He says, setting his glass on the table.

“Nothing. So you’re working on a new role?”

“I am. Hopefully in a couple of weeks I can tell you what it is.”

“Where are you filming?”

“Some in the States but mostly around Europe. I can’t wait.”

“With a bit of luck we might be in the US at the same time.”

“That would be lovely.”

After dinner he walks me home and I’m almost bursting with excitement. When we’re almost at my door I can’t hold it in anymore.

“You think I don’t know, don’t you?”

“Know what?” He says with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“That it’s your birthday this week.”

“Oh. Is it?” A smile spreads across his face as he looks down at me. “It’s not a big deal.”

I open the door and he hesitates. “I wasn’t going to come in, Becca.”

“I know, but I have something for you so we’ll just have to break protocol.”

I order him to sit at the breakfast bar while I take two mini cheesecakes from the fridge and put a candle in the middle of one and sing an almost-in-tune rendition of Happy Birthday.

“Thank you, darling.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Did you make these?”

“Mm hm,” I nod with a mouthful of cheesecake. “I told you my kitchen was fully functional.”

“This is very lovely of you, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Before he leaves he puts his arms around me, clasping his hands in the curve of my back. My palms rest flat against his chest and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to mine and kissing softly before I feel his tongue flick against my bottom lip. I’m reaquainted with the feeling of time coming to a complete stop and the rest of the world turning silent, for the few minutes our lips are engaged nothing exists except the two of us.

When he pulls away he presses his forehead to mine and takes my hands. “Bec, you’ll have to tell me if I’m going too fast. Because I’ve told you before, I want to. I don’t want to lose you, though. Just talk to me.”

“I will. So far you’re good.”

“Oh, good. If you agree to a second date we get half an hour to make out.”

“Oooh,” I hiss through my teeth. “I don’t know about that. Are we talking petting? Or just a lot of frustration-inducing kissing and pressing against one another?”

“That’s traditionally up to the lady. Whatever you find agreeable.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He clutches his chest as though I’ve wounded him and laughs as he kisses me again.

“Can I call you next week?”

“Of course you can.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. I’ve had a lovely evening.”

“I have, too. I’ll talk to you soon. Have a fantastic week.”

“I’m sure I will.”

After he leaves I lean on the door for a minute. I’m sure I had the idea that I wouldn’t rush into anything, but the man makes my brain short circuit and I don’t think it’s anything to do with his cologne.

* * *

Tom is restrained as promised and I’m getting a little jittery when I haven’t heard from him on Wednesday. Prue is doing an efficient job of keeping me occupied, though.

“I have three New York events lined up for you on the weekend. The LA ones aren’t for a couple of weeks.”

“So I get a long holiday?” I laugh.

“No, you get to go twice.”

“Good thing I don’t mind flying. I need to go get some proofing done if everything is going to be done by Friday.”

As soon as I’m back in my office my phone rings.

“Hello Thomas.”

“Hello darling. What’s new?”

“I’m going to New York on Friday.”

“That’s exciting. You’ve been before, haven’t you?”

“Twice. One day I’ll go for longer than two days.”

“I understand, believe me.”

“What’s new with you?”

“Not much. I was going to take you out, how about next weekend or a weeknight?”

“Either one, I’ll be back on Monday so Wednesday or Thursday?”

“Nope, I can’t do either of those. We’ll just have to wait until the weekend.”

“Saturday it is, then.”

“Can I pick you up in the afternoon if you’re not busy?”

“I’ll make sure I’m not busy.”

“I’ll let you get back to work. Have a great trip.”

“I will. Hey, how was your birthday?”

“Good. Quiet, just had dinner with friends. I’ll talk to you soon.”

* * *

I love New York, one day I want to spend a decent amount of time exploring it. For now though, I have to settle for fly in, work, and fly out again.

Attending red carpet events as a photographer loses its shiny appeal after your first ten or so. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the atmosphere, or getting close-ish to celebrities, or freezing in the Manhattan winter to get a few shots of a movie premiere, getting myself and my camera drenched for an opening night on Broadway.

It’s the crush.

The crush of people all vying for the same perfect photo, where said celebrity is looking straight down the lens and pulling their sexiest face. All I’m interested in is capturing something real, which is difficult on occasions like this which employ more stylists than there are fans waiting for a glimpse or an autograph. It’s always there, though. It just takes a little more patience, a different angle, and surviving the crush.

There are fewer opportunities for good shots than I’d like because the weather means everyone is rushed in, to be honest I’m feeling a bit flat by the time I leave. The highlight of the weekend is an unexpected ‘Happy Valentine’s Day xx’ text from Tom on Saturday evening that takes a little bit of New York’s shine and tarnishes it with wishes for London.

Back in the office on Monday afternoon, I’m discussing the images with Prue when she asks about Tom’s birthday.

“I know it was on Monday. Why?”

“I thought you should see this. It’s probably nothing, but I’m your friend and you should see it.” She drags an image onto the larger monitor; it’s a tabloid page with the headline ‘Hiddleston celebrates birthday with new love interest’.

“Oh. Who is it?”

“They don’t name her, except to say she’s brunette and someone who he’s known for a little while. I thought it might be you.”

“Nope. Wrong day, wrong restaurant. Definitely not me. I’m sure it’s nothing, though. And even if it is, we’ve only been on one date.” I shrug but I’m not sure she’s convinced.

* * *

Time is supposed to pass more quickly when you’re busy, but this week seems to drag on forever. I’m writing up New York and editing a small batch of photos while discussing strategy and planning next month with Prue and the Sydney team and I’m sure if my head wasn’t so well attached it would be spinning by Friday.

The big night out Rachel and I had planned falls through when she comes down with a cold, and we settle for a relaxed dinner and a few drinks instead.

“So you and Tom have been outed already?” She asks mid-meal.

“No. Where did you hear that?”

“It was in a couple of magazines and it’s all over the gossip sites.”

“You read those?”

“Not the point. Moving on.” I laugh, but she’s attached herself like a leech to a delicious subject. “Didn’t take them long!”

“Did they name me?”

“No, just a new love or something. Brunette he’s known for a while who they’ve kept nameless out of respect, but she took him out for his birthday.”

“Yeah, Rach, that wasn’t me.”

“What? It has to be you.”

“I didn’t see him on his birthday.”

“Well that’s awkward.”

“He said he had dinner with friends, so maybe she’s a friend. Who knows? He never said we were exclusively dating and we’re certainly not serious.”

“So you wouldn’t be at all bothered if he was dating someone else?”

“I didn’t say that. It would smart a little, but I’m a big girl.”

“You’re a terrible liar, is what you are.”

“Can we talk about something else? How’s your accountant going?”

“He’s not my accountant. But he’s definitely flirting, I’m not imagining it.”

“For god’s sake, just ask him out.”

“Maybe I will. What are you writing about this month?”

“New York, the events I went to. That’s it, really. I don’t do as much writing as editing now.”

A sneezing fit pretty well puts an end to the evening after that and I order her to take her germs home.

When lunchtime approaches the following day I’m finding a knot in my stomach that I can’t shake. Not the good nervous kind that manifests in tingly butterflies flapping their excited wings about a second date, the ugly big bug eating at your insides kind.

Tom knocks on the door just after 12 and I usher him in while trying to shut out the bitter wind that whipped up this morning. “Hello, darling.” He kisses me quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” I shrug. “Why?”

“Just making sure. I was going to take you on a picnic but I think we might blow away.”

“Do you have a plan B or do you just want to stay here?”

“Oh no, I have a plan B. I always do.” He winks. “Are you ready?”

“I’m not going to need a raincoat or snow gear am I?” I say warily. 

“I don’t know… do you own snow gear?”

“No.”

“We’ll have to stay indoors then. Come on.”

The drive to Tom’s house is quiet and short, and when we arrive I find he has moved the entire picnic – rug and all – into the loungeroom in front of the fireplace. He pours me a glass of wine and holds out a plate of sandwiches, and the fire crackles and pops behind us, making my back toasty and warm. I need one of these in my flat.

“Well this is very romantic, Thomas.”

“Is it?” He says with a coy smile. “Too much for a second date?”

“From you I would expect nothing less. You’re setting the bar kind of high, though.”

“Oh, darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

I roll my eyes and he reaches out to stroke my hand. “I missed you, you know.”

“I was only gone a few days.” I tilt my head and he shakes his head and looks down at our hands.

“Not just now. When you were gone. I didn’t just forget you, there wasn’t a day that-”

“Tom. I know. It killed me to do that to you. I missed you, too. But if we’re going to start over…”

“You’re right. I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to think I just moved on to someone else and forgot all about you. I couldn’t.”

“Did you? Move on to someone else?”

“No. There was no one else.”

I honestly don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. Sort of like having a tetanus shot; I should feel good about it, but it kind of hurts. He looks a little sad, and I wonder if he’s sad that he didn’t or sad remembering that I up and went back to Australia without a good explanation. Neither of those is a pleasant thought.

“I’m really sorry, Tom. I don’t think I can ever apologise enough to make it ok, that’s why I was hesitant for us to-”

“Bec, you were in an impossible situation.”

“I could have told the truth. I should have.”

“You think it would have hurt less to know that you had feelings for me but had to go anyway?”

Oh. I shift my position, the rug under me seems less comfortable and the fire a little too hot.

Tom leans in and kisses me, his lips barely graze mine and yet I feel all of his passion, all of his desires, in that fraction of a second. I push the discomfort from my mind and bring my hand to the back of his neck, pulling my open mouth against his to return his kiss and explore his tongue with mine.

Somehow within a few minutes I’m on my back and Tom’s leg is between mine, the weight of his hips pressing me into the floor while his hands rub my sides and comb through my hair. I’m feeling his back muscles as they move under his shirt, my fingertips registering every contour when I feel his erection pressing into my leg.

For a few minutes I ignore it, there are so many other sensations flooding my brain with Tom’s tongue gliding over mine, his kisses on my neck and his hands rubbing and squeezing through my clothes. He slides a hand under the hem of my shirt and tickles the sensitive skin on my flank, groaning low in his throat when I buck my hips away from his hand. His mouth closes hungrily over mine and it’s all I can do not to wriggle out from under him and leave him hanging in mid air.

“Tom,” I whisper. “Tom, wait.” I say with a little more volume. He takes his weight on his hands and stares down at me, his eyes are dark galaxies in his rosy flushed cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” He pants.

“I just… I don’t know. I need some air.”

Tom sits up and runs a hand through his hair, staring into the fire. He looks down at the floor and shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry, Bec. I got a bit carried away.”

“It’s not you, I’m just not ready for that yet.”

“For what exactly?”

“I could feel you on my leg. And I could feel what you want to do, what you want from me.”

“And?”

I stare at him and try to remember he can’t have much blood in his brain at this moment.

“And I can’t have sex with you yet, if you want plain english.”

“Physically can’t?”

“No, emotionally can’t. You do understand how-” I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. “It’s going to take a little while for me to get there. If you don’t want to wait around I understand.”

To my utter horror, he nods. I’m waiting for more – some words to accompany the nod, some sort of explanation as to what exactly he’s so agreeable to – but it never comes. He pours me another drink and I just about drain half the glass in the first mouthful.

“How was your birthday?” I ask after a few minutes.

“Good, yeah.”

“Did you do anything?”

“Just went out with a couple of friends for dinner. Quiet but good.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No.”

I get the distinct feeling I’m being shut out. If I wanted to turn him off, I’ve succeeded.

“What about Valentines?”

“I sent you a message, didn’t I?” He looks at me like he can’t remember.

“Yeah, you did. Did you do anything? Go out or anything?”

“Um… went out for a few drinks. Nothing special. Did you?”

“I took lots of lovely photos of other couples on a red carpet. Very romantic.”

He smiles, and I get the impression that’s the best I’m going to get out of him. After a couple of minutes’ awkward silence I feel his eyes on me while I watch the fire.

“What’s going on, Bec? Talk to me.”

“I already told you.”

“No. There’s more. You’re asking questions like you’re trying to catch me out.”

“I’m not.”

I see the tension as he curls and uncurls his hand.

“Are you… are we… exclusive?”

He snaps his head around. “Are we?”

“Could you just answer the question? Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No, Bec, I’m not. Are you?”

“No. Do you want to?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Can we get back to the kissing now?” He smiles just a little and looks at me like he’s just seen straight into my brain, moving closer so he can squeeze the back of my neck. “You saw the tabloid story about my birthday dinner.”

I nod and flush with embarrassment because I know better than to believe it. “I didn’t, but other people made me aware of it.”

“You know it isn’t true. And you know better than to believe that shit. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “We never said we were exclusive so I thought perhaps-”

“She’s a friend. A very old one from college. They neglected to mention the other two people at the dinner, one of them being her boyfriend.”

“Oh. Well now I feel like a bit of a goose.”

“You are a goose. You could have just asked! I have no desire to date anyone else, Rebecca. You are more than enough for me to handle right now.”

His kiss leaves me breathless and in no doubt about his feelings.

“I’m sorry about before, I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.”

“It’s not your fault. I know I’m asking a lot for you to wait, but after what happened…”

“Can I ask a question? What exactly is it you’re worried about?”

“That all the surgeries, the infections, that it might be different.”

“You’re not worried about getting pregnant?”

“No. I’m on birth control and the doctor didn’t think it would happen easily anyway.”

“You and Nathan didn’t-”

“No. We didn’t.” I look down at our clasped hands. “That’s a lie. We did, just once. Right before we lost him. Not after.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t think. I just assumed because you stayed so long. I can’t promise to control my blood flow,” he laughs nervously. “But I’ll control my impulses. I’ll do my best. And I’ll always listen to you.”

“Ok. Kiss me, Thomas.”

And he does, with all the passion and emotion of making love to me. He lies me down in front of the fire and lets some of his weight rest on me while his hands wander over my clothes and into my hair until we’re out of breath.


	20. Chapter 20

Sitting in the office on Monday I’m toying with my bruised lips; I must have one hell of a grin because Prue stops in the doorway to ask if she’s interrupting a dirty daydream.

“Good weekend, then?” She asks, sitting down across from me.

“Yeah,” I try to hide my blush behind my hand. “Yeah, it was. I haven’t made out with anyone like that since… ever.”

“What are you, thirteen?”

“Shut up. It’s sweet. It’s kind of hot, actually. I’m sure that’s not why you’re here, though.”

“Ah, no. I’ve been thinking about our honeymoon.”

“The one you weren’t going to have because you’re a control freak?”

“Yes, smart ass. That one. Would you be ok looking after the office for a couple of weeks?”

“Absolutely not.” I smile and she looks like she might hiss at me. “I’m glad you finally listened to me. Where are you going?”

“Henry is surprising me.”

“Grumpy Control Freak McBitchypants, as I live and breathe. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Tom calls on Thursday morning and his voice is a welcome reprieve from proofing content.

“Do you have time for coffee?”

“Um…” I look at my watch. I don’t really, but I wonder if I could just take an early lunch.

“What if I brought it to you?”

“That would work, but you don’t have-”

I look up at the knock on my office door and there he is, carrying two coffees.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re adorable and sweet?”

“Mmm, not today.”

“You are adorable and sweet. And sexy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Busy?” He sits down before I can answer.

“Not too busy for you. What are you up to this morning?”

“Very little, actually. I’ve done a lot of nothing productive.”

“That’s not like you. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed by visiting you. I was a bit distracted. Have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“I’d love to. Do you want me to cook?”

“No. I’m taking you out.”

“Tom,” I sigh heavily. He says he listens, but sometimes his man-brain takes over. “We talked about this.”

“It’s nowhere too public, I promise. We won’t be seen.”

“Ok.” I’m hesitant, but at least in a restaurant we won’t end up with bits pressing where they shouldn’t. I hope.

* * *

He knocks on the door at six on the dot and I open the door while trying to fasten an earring. “Are we aiming for the earlybird special or something?” I ask with a chuckle.

“Ehehe no, it’s a bit of a drive.”

“Where are we going?”

He tilts his head and looks up at me through his long lashes.

“You’re not telling, are you?”

“Nope. Are you ready?”

“I just need shoes. Come in.”

The 90 minute drive is filled with singing along to the radio and chatter about Tom’s new movie. He’s finally allowed to tell me it’s an action/comedy and he sounds like he’ll jitter out of his skin with excitement. When we arrive at a small restaurant I’m surprised to find it virtually empty, with just one table for two set in the middle.

“Thomas…”

“What? Yes, I booked the whole place. It’s not a big deal, honestly. The chef is a good mate.”

When we’re seated I frown at him. “You booked a whole restaurant.”

“A whole very small restaurant. Yes. You’ve got to bring your A game for the third date.” He winks.

“Tom-”

“Just order and then we’ll talk about it.”

I hate bossy Tom.

Once the one and only waiter has taken our orders, I give him a softer version of the same frown.

“Rebecca, I just wanted a special dinner.” He shrugs.

“You think between last week and this one something has changed and I’m going to sleep with you now?”

“No! Not at all! The other thing is that I need to tell you something, and I wanted a nice quiet place to do it. The start date has been moved forward, I have to be in LA in ten days.”

“Oh. For how long?”

“Ten weeks. Twelve at most.”

“Typical. I’ll be there next weekend. We’ll probably pass mid air.”

“I’m sorry. I only found out yesterday evening.”

We spend most of the evening talking about Los Angeles. I’ve been a few times for work, but as with New York I’ve never really seen much. We’re sharing a rich chocolate dessert when I feel his eyes on me and I know he wants to say something.

“Thomas?”

“Hm?”

“Just say it.”

“I’ll wait. While I’m away. You don’t need to worry about me being so far away, I’ll wait and we can pick it back up when I get home. If that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what I want?”

What am I supposed to say to that? I feel like all the air has been taken from the room and the universe is forcing my hand. I wanted to wait, I wanted to take our time. Three months between dates wasn’t really what I had in mind.

He’s stroking my hand in the car on the way home, his fingers smooth as they ghost over mine. “We can go back to yours if you like? Or mine?”

“Are you sure? I mean either way we don’t have to, but- are you sure?”

“I’m sure we can spend some more time together, yes.”

“Ok. How about mine, it’s warmer.”

It’s difficult not to feel amorous in front of a crackling fire with a nice glass of red wine in your hand. In fact it’s difficult to feel anything else.

Laying on the huge cushions facing Tom, he’s exploring under my shirt and dragging his fingers over my back. He kisses my mouth, his tongue dancing against mine while his hand moves to my front and finds my breast, kneading through my bra. I moan into his mouth, somehow his touch is familiar and new at the same time. I break the kiss and sit up so he can pull my blouse over my head and I do the same with Tom’s shirt; sliding it off his arms having already dealt with the buttons. When I lay back down his hand traces like silk over my skin, light and sensual. He traces shapes on my neck and draws lines over my clavicles, pinches my nipple between his thumb and finger until I gasp out loud. I feel his soft chest hair under my hands, the smooth skin that curves over his firm muscles and moves with his explorations. I find the sensitive spot near his ear with my lips, kissing it and drawing a circle with my tongue under the seal of my mouth. He leans his head back and moans his glorious moan and I know I’m doing the right thing; there is nothing I want more in this moment than Tom’s touch on my skin and his ecstasy in my ears.

Tom unzips my skirt and I wriggle out of it then he rolls me to my back and kisses down my neck to my breasts while his hand roams my abdomen and hips. I feel his fingers trail over the swelling just below my navel and redirect his hand to my breast, letting the feeling of his lips wash away my anxiety. He reaches behind my back and burns his fingertips down my skin before unclasping my bra and releasing my breasts from their cups. He swirls his tongue around one in a sensual spiral that never quite reaches my nipple, making me arch into him in desperation.

I unfasten his jeans and let my hand roam over his abdomen, tangling my fingers in the sexy little trail down from his waist. Tom’s hand reaches down to my thigh and moves slowly up, his fingertips grazing over my inner thigh and upward, barely ghosting over my mound and then up over my lower torso.

I tense and flinch away from his touch and he pulls back his hand and mouth, propping his head in his hand to look at me.

“What’s going on up here?” He traces a circle over my temple and I bite my lip.

“Nothing. Why?”

He reaches out again for my panties and I grab his hand out of instinct.

“That’s not nothing. If you don’t want to go that far that’s ok, but you have to tell me. I need to know your limits, sweetheart. I need you to say it.”

“It’s just sensitive. It tickles, that little spot. That’s all.”

Tom is looking at me like I’m being interrogated and he’s not sure if I’m the victim or the perpetrator. I reach down and slide my panties down my legs, leaving me naked. I can’t help but rest my arm over that spot, though; I don’t want to look at it and I don’t want Tom to notice.

He rolls toward me and drags his fingers over my thigh again, moving to my inner thigh and gently pressing my legs apart.

“Bec, relax.”

I nod and he kisses me, and I can feel all the calming words flowing from his tongue and down my throat like warm tea. Relaxing my muscles as much as I can I let him push my legs further apart but can’t hold back a whimper when I feel his finger dip between my folds.

He rests his hand on top of mine and it feels heavy, like it’s carrying all of his weight. When he finally breaks the kiss I have tears welling in my eyes. I don’t want to disappoint him, I almost want him to just take me no matter how much I protest, rip off the bandaid so to speak. He bows his head and rakes his fingers through his hair and I hear a badly-veiled sigh escape from his pursed lips.

When he looks back to my eyes the tenderness he regards me with is unexpected and the tears spill onto my face.

“Would you sleep with me tonight? Just sleep in my arms?”

“Tom, I-” He puts a finger to my lips to silence me.

“Don’t speak, darling. I don’t need any words. Just an indication of yes or no.”

I nod my head and fresh tears spill from my eyes. How can he just forget it so easily and pretend I didn’t just wait until he had me naked to deny him without a word of explanation?

“That’s all I need, darling. You don’t have to explain, you have no need to apologise. I understand, and I’ll be the luckiest man alive if you’ll just spend the night with me.”

Way to make a woman swoon, Thomas.

I pull on my panties and his shirt without thinking, and when I take his hand he bites his lip again and shakes his head with a chuckle. Perhaps not the best choice of clothing if we’re going for cuddle-and-no-sex atmosphere. In the bedroom he tosses me a tshirt and I can’t help but bring it to my nose, even after washing it smells faintly of Tom. I decline the offer of pants before slipping between his crisp silver sheets while I wait for him to change. He takes me into his arms; his chest is bare and he wears only a pair of boxers and I can hear his heartbeat under my ear.

For a few minutes we lay in silence, the only sounds are our breathing and the occasional distant pop from the fireplace. Tom’s hand is spread over my back and rubs up and down slowly, soothing my worries and making me soften into his embrace. When I think he’s drifting off and I’ve accepted that the evening hasn’t been a total disaster, he begins to sing ‘Chasing Cars’ into the silence. His tone is breathy and soft, like a father singing a lullaby to an already sleeping child, and my eyes well with fresh tears while my heart swells in my chest.

I never ask if the song choice was deliberate or just the first one that came to mind, I’m asleep before he finishes the last chorus.

* * *

I wake up to find Tom already gone for a run, the other side of the bed empty and cold. I can hear him clattering about in the kitchen when I turn off the shower and by the time I’m dressed he’s topping two stacks of pancakes with fresh berries.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he pops a raspberry into my open mouth and my eyes roll back in my head.

“I don’t know how you found those, but you need to introduce me to your dealer. I have cash.”

His head falls back as he laughs.

“I can’t reveal my sources, darling. I’ll always share with you, though. Coffee?”

“Please. You know the way to my heart, Thomas. Raspberries and coffee and I’m all yours.”

“They’re worth the obnoxious amount I paid for them, then.”

He kisses my mouth and the taste of berries and maple syrup makes me whimper.

“Do you have anything planned today?” I ask as we sit at the table.

“I was hoping we might go for a walk around the park, or I can take you somewhere more secluded. Away from public, I mean, since you’re worried about being photographed.”

“Sounds lovely.”

We spend the day taking in squirrels and unusually warm sunshine in St James park. Dressed casually with a hat and Aviators, I’m pleasantly surprised that Tom isn’t recognised as far as we can tell although he’s careful to keep his affections to himself.

On the couch after dinner, he turns to me and takes my hand. “Can you stay the night?”

“I should get home, I need to get a few things done before I head off to the US.”

“What if I kicked you out after breakfast?”

“Tom,” I warn.

“I’m rushing you?”

“A little.”

“Alright, I’ll stop. I didn’t expect anything, by the way. I just love the way you feel in my arms, with your head against my chest. Your quiet little snores-”

“I do not snore!”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

I pick up a cushion and swing it at his pretty face, but his long arms easily block my attack and turn it back on me.

“If you’re content with just sleeping,” I say between giggles. “I’ll stay. But I have to go after breakfast.”

He rubs his nose playfully against mine before pulling me into a deep kiss.

Tom’s bed is solid, dark wood and I’m fairly sure it’s longer than normal, like those pants that come with extra length for extra long legs. Not that I’d personally know anything about those, except to avoid them lest I look like a child hoisting daddy’s overalls up so I don’t walk on them. Up close the stain is deep grey and the woodgrain texture is rough under my fingertips. From a distance it appears black and imposing, the warmth of its imperfections only showing close up.

He says he likes the right side, but from my limited experience he might as well say he favours the middle because that is exactly where he sleeps. Dead centre. I suppose this could be to my advantage in that I can choose whichever side I like, and were I in that sort of mood I could switch in the middle of the night. The good thing about it is he’s always right there, never on the edge of the bed or rolling away from me.

The bad thing about it is he’s always right there, so if you’re into personal space I can see this being a problem.

I like Tom. I like him a lot. I also like my space, and if I’m honest there’s only one place Tom is a sloth: in bed.

Either his arms and legs are wrapped around me, cuddling and clinging for dear life; or he’s all spread limbs that take up the entire bed and drape casually over anything in their path.

When we get into bed he takes a book from the bedside and splays his arm out so I can snuggle into his chest.

“Are you going to read to me?”

“If you like. I’m re-reading _Rebecca_.” I shoot him a look. “Total coincidence, I swear.”

“Uh-huh. Yes please.”

I nuzzle at his shoulder until I’m comfortable and close my eyes while his deep voice lulls me to sleep. I don’t even hear the words, just his voice and the way he enunciates each syllable, his soft mouth and tongue forming each sound.


	21. Chapter 21

Rach and I organise dinner for Wednesday before I have to leave for LA on Thursday night.

“How’s it going with Tom?” She asks.

“Slow. Good slow. He’s so romantic it’s almost nauseating.”

“Wow. I am impressed with your restraint.”

“He’s not making it easy. We spent the whole weekend together and he’s off to LA next week for three months.”

“Are you going to jump his bones before he goes?”

“I don’t know. I can’t believe you just said that.” I chuckle.

“Fuck, Becca. If I had the chance I would climb that man like a palm tree.”

“Remind me to keep you two separated.”

“Seriously, though. Are you scared?”

“A bit, yeah. The swelling on my belly, and everything down there feels different. What if he notices, or it hurts?”

“Is that fear going to get worse while he’s away, or better?”

“He’ll probably fall in love with a gorgeous actress and I won’t have to worry.”

“Becca, you know he won’t do that.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s exciting and terrifying and humbling all at once. I don’t know. I have to make up my mind, though. I leave tomorrow night.”

“May I suggest finishing your dinner and hot-footing it there now?”

“We’ll see.”

Two hours of convincing and a little liquid courage later I’m knocking on Tom’s door. He opens it with a frown, and I wonder why he’s wandering around at home in a button down shirt when he would usually get comfortable once inside.

I hear voices.

“You have company,” I say quietly, looking down at my feet. Why didn’t I call first?

“Yeah, I do. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you. It’s just a couple of buddies though, come in.” He opens the door and I hesitate.

“No. No, it’s fine. I was just on my way home and thought I’d stop in to… say hi. So hi. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Becca, I-”

“Tom, it’s ok. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”

I walk away before he can reply, embarrassed and kicking myself for getting my hopes up without calling first. Before I get home there is a ‘call me’ message on my phone.

“Hi,” I say quietly when he answers.

“Hello, darling. What the hell was that about?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. I’ll be alone in about fifteen minutes, would you come back? Please?”

I start the walk back to Tom’s house but I know by the time I get there I’ll have lost my nerve.

“I can’t let you go without us… you know.”

“Ah, I see. So you came over unannounced so we could get the sex out of the way before I go?”

“Er… yes. But when you put it like that…”

“Sit down, Bec.”

I feel like a teenager in the principal’s office again. Not that I would know how that feels.

“We’re not having sex. Not until I get back.”

“Would it help if I begged? I was kind of psyched up.”

Tom throws his head back and laughs, his shoulders still shaking as he pulls me against him and kisses the top of my head.

“Tempting as that is, sweetheart… No.” He pulls back and strokes my cheek before kissing me deeply, his tongue dancing over mine while my hands clasp around his neck.

When I wake in the morning our limbs are tangled together and I’m almost brought to tears. During the night he woke me with more slow, passionate kisses and tight embraces, our hands exploring one another’s bodies while our tongues gestured in place of words.

“I’ll miss you, Bec.” His voice is soft and almost unsure. “Every day.”  
“I’ll miss you, too. You can call me any time.”

“Careful, I might take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”

I remain encircled in his arms until the very last moment when I have to get up and he makes me a quick breakfast while I shower. Many kisses and cuddles later I’m back in my flat and staying busy to keep my mind off Tom. With a quick change of clothes and the final few items packed I spend the rest of the day at the office and go straight to Heathrow for my flight to LA.

* * *

It does not rain in Los Angeles. Ever. I am 100 percent sure of it. It’s the only city I’ve been to where I’ve never seen rain, and until I see it I simply refuse to believe that it happens.

I’m here for a feature on Aussie up-and-comers trying their luck in LA, and there’s no shortage of them. We’ve culled the list down to 30 and even this means leaving out a few promising faces.

Hearing a familiar accent is like smelling the salty beach air of home; it never gets old. The shoots are happening over three days because there’s so many and we get some group shots as well. I remember feeling just as they do; fresh-faced and excited, just waiting for my big opportunity to show the world what I can do. Of course, I was in London and a photographer, but the experience is similar. Risking it all to move to the other side of the world on a whim and a hope that someone will see your potential like a light bulb above your head. The unfortunate reality is that many of these gorgeous, smart, talented young men and women will never get a chance.

Four days in LA is my limit, it’s just not my favourite place. I think it’s too different from home; whether home is Sydney or London. I’m on the return flight when it dawns on me that I’m feeling the same excitement I used to feel on my way back to Sydney, and my mind immediately wanders to Tom and when I will see him again.

Then I remember, I won’t. Not for at least ten weeks.

My heart sinks into my shoes.

I open my laptop and begin editing the photos from the weekend to draw my mind away from thoughts of Thomas, and it’s effective for at least a couple of minutes at a time.

* * *

Prue denies my help, but I can see from the deep furrows in her forehead and the way she rushes around the office that the stress level around her impending wedding is approaching the red zone.

The upside to this is she’s handing off more and more work to me and keeping me occupied for a good twelve hours of every day. Rachel insists on interrupting me at least two nights a week so I don’t burn out.

“So you’re bringing Drew to the wedding?” I ask over a glass of wine.

“I think so. I know we said we’d both go alone.”

“Are you kidding? If I had a date I’d ditch you in a heartbeat!”

“Thanks, Becca. That’s comforting. No Tom, then?”

“No point in asking, he’s out of the country.”

“Are you going to visit him?”

“I can’t, I’m too busy. If I have to get over there I’ll work it into the trip, but I can’t afford that much time off. I just have to wait it out.”

She’s giving me a sympathetic smile and I feel tears itch the back of my eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d miss him like this, Rach. I didn’t want to. I wanted some time to just be me for a while, not get into something straight away.”

“Sometimes you can’t help that, sweetie.”

“Yeah.”

She smiles and I cock my head at her. “What?”

“Nothing. You should go see him.”

“I’ve tried to work it in but it doesn’t fit. When he has time off I have work and when I have a free weekend he’s working.”

Rach shrugs her shoulders but I can tell she’s thinking more than she’s saying.

Right on cue I step in my door and my phone rings.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Tom says.

“Hi. How’s things?”

“Good,” he yawns. “Sorry.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am a little. Lots of night shoots and long days. We have to get this location wrapped a bit sooner than we thought. It does mean a few days off for me, though. Two weeks from now, perhaps you could come and visit?”

“Argh that’s Prue’s wedding!”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He’s silent for a few seconds. “I miss you, Bec.” He says quietly.

“I miss you too, Tom. More than I expected.” I chuckle. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I know what you mean. What have you been up to?”

“Just had dinner with Rachel. I’ve been so busy at work she insists on taking me out for some fun a couple of times a week.”

“I’m glad. Can’t have you burning yourself out.”

“Yes mum. So it’s going well?”

“I think so, yeah. It’s hard work and long hours but a lot of fun. I’d really love for you to come over. If you get a free weekend just get on a plane, ok?”

“Ok. Maybe after the wedding.”

“I hoped I’d have the chance to come home but it’s just not working out that way.”

“That’s what you get for being a hot-shot actor.”

“Ehehe. Yeah. Something like that. I have to get back to it, darling. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours, too. I really miss you, Tom. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

“I’ve been daydreaming about coming home to you.”

“I’d love to see the classification on those daydreams.”

“They’re pretty tame, lots of slow motion running through airports.”

“Chariots of fire, too?”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Count on it.”

* * *

The more time drags on the more I wonder about Tom’s daydreams and what he expects when he comes home. Are we going straight to bed together? Is he dreaming about letting out all of the pent up frustration with a night of passion or is hard and fast more what he’s after.

By the week of Prue’s wedding my visions have gotten quite vivid, enough to make me blush like a beetroot when he told me a few days ago he’d been thinking about me in the shower that night; because that was exactly how I imagined him thinking about me.

He stands under the hot water, one hand splayed out against the wall while rivulets run down over his hair and face on the way to his toned body, his muscles tight with pent up tension. Tom’s long fingers close over his erection, reaching down to stroke his balls with his fingertips. His large palm curves around his shaft and makes slow strokes up and down and he lets his head fall back so the water sprays over his face.

Tom’s mind drifts to thoughts of me, what I might be doing, if I’m doing the same across the sea in London. Perhaps it’s not me he thinks about at all, but in my fantasy I’m the only woman on his mind.

After a few minutes of firm stroking, his thumb rubbing occasionally around his head while his palm and fingers work vigorously over his shaft, his head falls forward and he imagines me on my knees in front of him, his cock thrusting down my throat. With his jaw clenched, mouth open in a wordless ‘Oh’ and his hair dripping all over his face he breathes heavily and his fingertips turn white as he tries to grip the shower wall to steady his quivering legs.

With a loud moan and a few curses his seed flows into his hand and he strokes the base to milk it dry, savouring the idea that it is not his hand but my lips that move fluidly over him, swallowing his cum as though I’m starving and locking my eyes on his with a pleasured groan.

More than once I’ve found my fingers exploring my wetness while the image of Tom getting himself off plays over and over in my head. On this particular night I go a little further than before and let my finger slip inside, withdrawing to rub the juices over my clit. I feel it stand up to attention, hardening and tingling under the pad of my finger. I dip my finger inside again, spreading my legs and sliding it further. I feel over my gspot and if I’m honest I’m relieved it’s still there and sensitive as ever, a small moan immediately escapes my parted lips. When I swirl my knuckle around my entrance I’m disappointed to find a little resistance but in the absence of any real discomfort I continue and eventually add a second finger while my thumb works over my clit.

“Oh, god,” my fingertips are stroking hard over my gspot from the inside while my thumb flicks fast and hard over my clit. Before long I’m panting into the darkness and my moans fill the silence as I’m overtaken by a shattering orgasm that makes my channel contract around my fingers and soak my hand, leaving me out of breath and sticky with sweat.

A single tear falls from the outer corner of my eye as I roll over. All I can think about the past few days is Tom and it takes all the restraint I have to not call him more than once per day. I ache to be back in his arms, feel his hands and his lips and his weight on me. Spent with release I close my eyes and sleep takes me quickly, Tom’s name on my lips and his body on my mind.


	22. Chapter 22

The days leading up to the wedding are bittersweet, with Henry sending cute little gifts for Prue every day. She has everything organised at this point as has switched from stressed to anticipation, even counting the hours. It’s lovely to see her softer side on display most of the time, and it means more work to keep me occupied.

I’m feeling restless and I can’t put my finger on the source; like something nags at me from the back of my mind and it’s enough to be distracting but not enough to tell me what’s going on.

And I miss Tom. I miss him an inordinate amount for the amount of time he’s been in my life. I miss him too much for words, so much that hearing his voice makes it harder. A little voice taunts me, tells me that I should have given myself to him while I had the chance, tells me that he won’t wait and will move on with someone more convenient and willing, tells me when he’s out spending time with his cast and crew mates he’s with another woman, and it tells me I deserve that for deceiving and hurting him and then making him wait.

That voice is not so little this morning, it’s yelling and screaming and pounding its fists on the walls of my brain, insisting on being heard.

I’ve tried calling him a few times and even left a voicemail, but his phone is off. Tom never turns his phone off, in fact I’m convinced he doesn’t know he can. So why now?

Prue’s wedding is the day after tomorrow and her behaviour today is downright weird. She’s checking in with me every few minutes about menial tasks that were done days ago, and while I initially guessed she was nervous about leaving me in charge while she’s on her honeymoon I’m not so sure now. She seems more excited than nervous, like she’s deflecting all of her wedding jitters onto me and fluttering around me like an over-attentive maid of honour.

Rachel has called me four times today and never seems to have a point, she just wants to chat. I don’t want to be abrupt, but between her and Prue I’m finding it all a bit distracting and I’d like to just get my work done and go home.

The restless feeling has me crawling around in my own skin and I’d gladly exchange it for someone else’s if the opportunity arose. I feel like I’ve had twice as much coffee as I have, and I cannot sit still. When my phone rings late in the afternoon I expect Rach again and let it go to voicemail so I can finish the page I’m working on.

Finally just after six I’m done for the weekend and happy to leave knowing I don’t have a huge pile to deal with on top of the inevitable wedding hangover. On the walk home I take out my phone to try Tom again and see three missed calls from him. When I try calling back, though, he doesn’t answer again. With a heavy sigh I pull my scarf and collar tight around me and continue home. The ache in my chest that I’d hoped would dissipate as time passed has grown and now makes me nauseous when I can’t get hold of him, the amount of time I spend thinking about him has only increased the longer he’s away. I’ve half talked myself into going over to visit, and I hope the romance and emotion of the wedding might be the final push I need.

After a quick shower I need to get dressed for the rehearsal dinner at a nearby restaurant. I opt for a knee length pencil skirt and ruffle blouse with my leather coat and add a scarf before I step back out into the cold wind. I’m a little early at the restaurant, but naturally Prue and Henry are there and Rachel walks in right behind me, giving me my first chance to meet the oft-spoken-about Drew. He’s the epitome of tall dark and handsome, with chocolate brown hair the flops over his forehead, deep brown eyes and tan skin that makes me wonder where he spent the winter – because it can’t have been London. Rachel looks positively smitten, as does Drew, with his arm protectively around her waist as he’s introduced around. Only when I’m talking to them and looking around the tables in the restaurant do I realise I am the odd number – the one without a ‘plus one’. The only one. With all the romance in the air I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more lonely.

I manage to shake it off – or at least bury it – and have a lovely time. The food is amazing, the alcohol flows freely and by the time I head home the tears in my eyes are pure happiness for Prue and Henry. I get out of the cab and look up at my apartment building and disappointment washes over me. I don’t know what I was expecting, or what I was hoping would be waiting for me when I got here, but it isn’t here. It’s dark and empty and lonely. For the first time I miss Nathan, purely for the selfish purpose of not attending such an important event alone. I’ve had just enough alcohol for the thought to reduce me to tears, and I crawl into bed in my fluffiest pajamas, snuggle myself around a pillow, and cry myself to sleep.

Saturday begins like any other Saturday – grocery shopping, laundry, paying bills. Just before lunchtime my hairdresser works her best fairytale magic on my hair, tightening up the curls and sweeping my hair back into a romantic twisty grecian-style ‘do to team with my one-shouldered light blue dress. While she works another amazing woman manicures my nails and I leave the salon feeling like a different woman. One who might even belong on the arm of someone like Tom, if the next two months ever end and we perhaps by some miracle attend an event together.

Just considering the idea of being out in public as his girlfriend makes me feel like my stomach is an omelette; flipped and folded over on itself.

In true Prue form there is nothing left to be done on the day, everything has been taken care of either by the bridal party or a hired specialist. I’m convinced she paid someone to organise the weather as well, it’s perfect and sunny with a very light breeze. The garden outside the modern reception venue is set up with 40 chairs in rows, an aisle of rose petals and an archway covered in roses for the bride and groom. When I speak to Prue over the phone she is the textbook way-too-calm bride and I wonder whether the facade will crash down before or after the ceremony.

I meet Rachel and Drew making such ridiculous gaga expressions at one another I can’t help but roll my eyes and gag a little.

“Just wait,” she says to Drew. “We’ll get our own back soon enough.”

“Not soon enough for me,” I whisper in her ear.

“It’s a damn shame he’s not here to see you today because you look absolutely stunning,”

Henry stands to one side of the arch with his groomsmen, beaming with pride, his hands jittering and fidgeting with his jacket sleeves while he waits. I can see him talking to the celebrant, sharing a chuckle which is no doubt related to Prue being a few minutes late. From my seat on the end of the aisle I turn to look around at the other guests and my suspicions are confirmed; there is an odd number of people and I am the odd one out. I’m making a mental note to have words with Rach for ditching me when I notice she has moved down a seat so there is a space between us.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t see properly.”

She and Drew share a private chuckle as I shuffle over to close the space and turn to look for any sign of the bride.

I turn back to say something about their tardiness but I’m interrupted by another single guest.

“Sorry, is this seat taken?”

I freeze in my seat. The man has a deep voice and such a similar accent to Tom that I actually look up expecting to see his face. Long patterned legs give way to a deep blue window pane suit jacket, light blue shirt and navy tie, a long smooth neck with a familiar pattern of freckles, red-gold stubble on a square jaw, thin pink lips with that tongue always licking over them, straight nose, blue eyes that sparkle with mischief and short blond hair.

I clap a hand over my mouth and only just muffle a squeal as I stand and throw myself at him.

“What are you doing here?” I run my fingertips over his face, feeling the rough stubble and the smooth skin. He guides me back down to my seat and I look into his smiling eyes. “Never mind, I don’t care.”

I pull him in and kiss him, not caring who is watching or what anyone else thinks. I pour all of the emotions of the last weeks, all the tears and the ache that has steadily grown in my chest until I thought I would burst, into Tom and the passionate kiss that I never want to end.

We pull back and giggle when we realise most of the guests are staring and some have started to cheer, and I blush down at my feet as Tom takes my hand. When I look back up his cheeks are as red as mine and he smiles his beautiful, bashful, genuine smile; the one that makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the room.

Alas, I am not, and it’s time to turn my attention to the bride. She is stunning in a fitted dress that hugs her curves and I can see Henry’s eyes well with tears before he can even get a good look at his soon to be wife. I see him mouth ‘wow’ to Prue and my own eyes are suddenly blurred with moisture and Tom is handing me a pressed white handkerchief.

Of course the man carries a handkerchief, when I didn’t even think to put a few tissues in my purse.

The ceremony is short and just the right amount of sweet, and we’re soon mingling among the other guests in the sunshine while the bridal party have professional photos taken. I’ve somehow lost sight of Tom when he went to get drinks a few minutes ago with Drew.

“That was quite the surprise,” Rachel says with a wink.

“You bloody knew, didn’t you?”

“I might have. Prue might have, too. All his idea though, I swear.”

“Nothing surprises me at this point. You know he handed me a handkerchief? White, perfectly folded. I think it had been ironed. I don’t even iron half of my clothes!”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven. You wouldn’t have noticed he was as happy to see you as you were, him. God, Becca. The way he talks about you.”

“What did he say?”

“Mostly how much he misses you, how beautiful and smart you are, how kind. But it’s not the words, it’s his tone. The way he kind of wafts into pink puffy hearts territory, his voice softens and becomes more breathy, the way he sighs.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not. You do it, too. I had to hold back a giggle when I first heard it in Tom’s voice as well. You two really can’t see how strong this is.”

Before I can ask what she means Tom and Drew return with our drinks and he weaves his fingers with mine while we talk for a few minutes.

“Might I sweep you away for a few minutes, darling? Sorry guys, we have a bit of catching up to do.”

“Keep your clothes on, would you? There are children around.” Drew jokes as we walk toward the shade of a large secluded tree.

Tom leans back against it, hand in his pocket and looking up at me through his long lashes. “How’ve you been?” He says with a cheeky grin.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe it. I’m here. Until Tuesday I’m all yours.”

“How long have you been planning this?”

“Not long. Since early Friday morning when I asked Prue if it was too late for you to bring a date.”

“You’re amazing, and I am one lucky girl.”

I lean in and stroke his face and he eyes me hungrily, reaching down and kissing me with an open mouth that closes slowly over mine, his breath hot on my face. His tongue is slow and gentle as it slips between my lips and explores my mouth with a passion that threatens my composure.

The world stops and I never want this kiss, this moment, this feeling to end. I want to fall into him and lose myself in his warmth, I want to cry and dance, hold him and make love to him and keep my skin pressed to his every second of the day.

He groans as he pulls away, his hands on my sides and his fingers holding onto my ribs as though it’s the only way to prevent him taking me right here. He breathes like he’s just run a few miles and his cheeks flush as his blood pumps hard around his body.

“Rebecca, my god I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Do you think anyone would notice if we snuck away and missed the reception?”

“Surely not, with this many people. It’s not like you and Prue are close or anything.” I chuckle at his sarcasm.

“We should probably get back to the crowd, then.”

“Probably,” he kisses me again, enough to leave me breathless, and then takes my hand to walk back to the rest of the guests.

“You look beautiful, Bec. Luminous.”

“You don’t scrub up so bad, yourself.”

The afternoon fades into early evening and a reception dinner, with the orange and pink sky casting a romantic glow over the large room, decorated in silver and black. A few minutes after the tear-jerking bridal waltz, Tom stands and takes my hand.

“Dance with me, gorgeous.”

He takes me to the dance floor and my heart is pounding with nervous energy; I’m not a terrible dancer but I don’t even compare to Tom and slow dancing isn’t my thing. His large hand rests just above my hip and I can feel the warmth of his spread fingers through my dress like a fiery branding of possession. The other hand is holding mine and they rest on Tom’s chest just below his shoulder. He sways in time to the music and kisses my forehead, gazing into my eyes as he mouths the words and I realise the song is ‘Chasing Cars’ again. Midway through the second song I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder, silently congratulating myself on choosing the ridiculous high heels.

When the music moves to a higher tempo Tom twirls me around the floor and pulls out his best moves until my aching feet can’t take anymore. I’m torn between enjoying Prue and Henry’s big day and willing it to pass so that I can spend some time alone with Tom, knowing our hours are so finite between now and Tuesday.

Farewelling the couple of honour, I chide Prue for not telling me Tom was coming.

“He insisted on surprising you,” she shrugs. “He is a keeper, Bec. He’s fallen hard.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I know I asked you to take care of things while I’m away, but I don’t want to hear from you until Tuesday and I don’t want you in the office, either. Got it?”

“Prue-”

“I mean it. I’ll fire you if you’re at work on Monday. Spend some time with that gorgeous man of yours while you can.”

“Have an amazing honeymoon, sweetie. I’m so so happy for you.” Tears well in our eyes as she hugs me and departs.

“My place or yours?” Tom says in the taxi. “I’m afraid mine doesn’t have any food but we can always stop for supplies on the way.”

“Mine has everything we need, and I don’t want to stop.”

I can feel his eyes on me as I look down at his hand on my leg. “Alright, then.” He gives the driver my address and butterflies flutter in my stomach knowing it’s only a short trip. Nervous energy has me tapping my toes and biting my lip in anticipation, and I’m not sure why I feel close to tears. 


	23. Chapter 23

I open the door and Tom slides my coat off my shoulders, hanging his jacket next to it. Not wanting to wait any longer, I forego the lights and take him straight to the bedroom, reaching under my arm to unzip my dress.

“Bec, wait.”

Frozen mid-action I look at him and brace for some sort of shock. “Sorry. I thought-”

“Let me, darling. Please?”

I nod my head and he sits me down on the edge of the bed, taking one foot in his huge hand. He rubs my ankle with one hand while the other unfastens and slips my shoe off my foot, and then rubs hard on the sole with his thumb until I groan. He repeats the action on the other foot, rubbing gently over the tender skin and then up my leg under my dress.

Toeing off his shoes, he sits next to me on the bed and strokes my bare shoulder with light fingertips and peppers the skin with kisses. His long fingers massage my scalp as he removes the pins from my hair and lets it fall over my shoulders, combing it down with his fingers and pulling it to one side to kiss the back of my neck.

My insides have burned up and I don’t know if I’ll spontaneously combust or melt into a puddle; and I’m still fully dressed.

“Rebecca,” he whispers in my ear and nibbles my earlobe. “I missed you so god damn much.”

“I missed you too,” I sigh.

He covers my neck and shoulders in kisses while unzipping my dress and slipping the shoulder off, revealing the ivory lace that covers the top of my breasts. His mouth leaves a trail of moisture down my neck while his hands move to my front around my waist and up to my breasts, kneading and swishing the fabric against them.

Tom starts sliding my dress down over my breasts and I reach around to pull him into a kiss, his long neck easily bending around mine. I can feel his hands roam over the lace beneath my dress as he pushes it down to my hips and when he breaks away his fingers are dragging over the stiff bones of my corset. He pulls back with a puzzled expression.

“Do you always wear such sexy lingerie to weddings? Fuck, I’d never have kept my hands off you if I’d known you were hiding that under your dress.”

The truth is, I was worried about that stupid paunch showing through my dress, the choice of a corset in ivory lace was just an added bonus. I’ve always hated strapless bras, anyway.

“You know what they say, every woman feels better in sexy lingerie.”

“You couldn’t possibly feel any better to me than you do naked. But damn.”

With his hands he pulls me up and my dress pools at my feet so I can step out of it. Tom’s long fingers run up and down my sides while he kisses my chest and clavicle, moving up to my neck. My head falls back and I moan as his hand rubs my thigh and he lifts me back onto the bed, placing me with care in the middle. He allows me to unbutton his shirt and slip it off but stops me at his pants and shakes his head.

As he moves down my body I can feel his wet lips and warm tongue through the lace and I shiver under his light touch. He moves down to my knees and spatters kisses over my legs, letting one hand slowly trail up to my panty line. My eyes fall closed as he traces the line around each leg and between my thighs, parting my legs as he does.

“Open your beautiful eyes, Bec.”

I look up at him, sitting on his heels between my legs. The way he looks at me with his dark hooded blue eyes, his dishevelled hair and naked torso, and only now I notice the tan he has developed while being away… there’s an inferno burning inside me, and I need him on me and in me.

“Say something if you want me to stop, ok? I’ll go slow.”

Please don’t, my body says. Just take me, against my will if you have to. Take me until I cannot take any more.

Tom begins by caressing my mound through my panties with a gentle touch that I barely feel through the fabric and yet somehow I’m almost bucking under his hand. With a firmer hand he rubs and teases until finally he pushes in through the side and circles my soaking clit with his finger. His eyes keep their hold on mine, and I see them smile as my body responds to his touch and a moan escapes my throat.

He shifts on the bed and puts two pillows under my neck so I’m propped up, then adds another under my hips. Kneeling between my legs he brings his mouth to mine for a deep kiss, sucking my tongue slowly into his mouth. When he pulls away he brushes a stray hair behind my ear.

“Are you comfortable?” I nod and he moves back down, kneeling on the floor and leaning over the bed so he’s between my legs. His hands work my panties down my legs and when they’re at my knees he takes them with his teeth and drags them slowly off over my feet.

Tom pushes my thighs apart and massages them with firm hands, working gradually toward my sex. I moan loudly when his fingers part my folds, exploring and touching as though for the first time. His eyes are locked on mine and I have to work to keep them open, his teasing is driving me slowly insane.

He circles my clit with one finger, rubbing my dripping juices over it and then blowing until I feel the cool air and it stands to attention. I watch his face move closer and then feel his tongue lick the inside of my lips, parted with his hand. He licks every inch of exposed hot flesh until I’m writhing under him, and then closes his lips over my clit. I moan as he kisses me; slow, gentle and deep just like he’s kissing my mouth, his tongue massaging over my swollen clit and his hot breath on my lips.

“Oh, god. Tom…” I moan after a minute or so of slow kisses. He continues with his mouth and slips a finger inside, slow and gentle and watching my face for any sign of discomfort. He swirls around, stretching my entrance and feeling inside for my g spot. When he withdraws his finger his mouth moves to my cunt, his hand spreading my fleshy lips apart while he kisses my sex and thrusts his tongue inside. While his finger works my clit I begin to gasp and he brings me to the brink before slowing and stopping, withdrawing to blow gently and cool my hot skin.

Using a steady hand he works two fingers into my cunt, stretching me open while his mouth returns to suck and kiss my clit. When he finds my g spot he rubs over it with the pads of his fingers, moving them in and out with a maddening slow pace.

“Fuck. Faster. Please.” I say between gasping breaths. My hand tangles in his hair, and I roll my hips against him, but he doesn’t change his speed or pressure and I know even before it happens that I’m headed for a dizzying orgasm.

It feels as though hours have passed when I finally feel the glorious pull in my centre, feel wetness spilling out onto his hand and my stomach contracting as an orgasm threatens to make me lose consciousness. I’m gasping for breath so deep I’m hyperventilating, and moaning – almost screaming – with such volume I’m sure the neighbours must hear. The scent of my arousal fills the air and silver stars explode in front of my eyes as I contract around his fingers and he dives further inside, his tongue lashing at me until I cry out his name and tears fall from the corners of my eyes. He laps at my cunt until my thighs quiver around his ears and then withdraws, his eyes meeting mine again. Kisses leave a trail of warm moisture up my torso until he finds my mouth and I tangle my fingers in his hair. His kiss is tender and soft, unhurried and loving, and I search his face with my fingertips as he pulls away.

“I love you.” I whisper as a stray tear falls from the outside of my eye.

My whole body tenses and freezes like I’ve turned to stone. Tom’s eyes are probing my brain and I clench them shut, not wanting to see his expression. It’s too soon, and I’ve not even entertained the thought until this moment, when my mind is clouded with lust and I barely know what day it is or where I am.  

I feel his lips on my cheek, moving next to my ear. “Rebecca. Open your eyes.”

I shake my head and he chuckles. “Roll over, then. Lie on your front.”

Long fingers unfasten the clasps on the back of my corset, working from top to bottom and kissing each new centimetre of skin as it is exposed. He raises my arms above my head and holds my wrists in one hand, sweeping my hair aside to kiss my neck. I hear the metallic jingle of his belt as he unfastens his pants and then I feel his weight on my back, his erection pressing into the flesh of my ass while he sucks on my shoulder and bites my neck.

For a moment I wonder what he’s going to do, whether he plans on taking me from behind, spanking me or something equally unexpected.

I’m so turned on at this point I don’t really care about the details, but the anxiety from before still nags at the back of my mind. Tom turns me back over and discards the open corset on the floor with the rest of our clothes. Kneeling between my spread thighs, he rubs his tip over my sex, spreading the pooling juices over me. From my propped up position I can see him glisten as he is coated in my essence, see his erection grow further as he brings it to my entrance. His size is formidable, and something I used to appreciate quite vocally. Now I almost fear it; I so desperately want him inside but I want the initial pain to be over with. I clamp my eyes shut and then his fingertips are making circles on my belly, on that god awful spot just below my navel. Out of instinct I grip his wrist roughly and move his hand up closer to my chest.

“Rebecca,” he breathes. I can hear the desire in his deep voice, but his movements have stopped. “Bec. Open your eyes. Please?”

I open one eye slowly and peer at him through half closed lids.

“You can do better than that.” He smiles.

I look at him fully, my hands can’t help trailing over his hard chest. He leans over me so his face hovers over mine, almost touching, and his eyes flick from one of mine to the other.

“I will take care of you. I won’t hurt you. Alright?”

I nod slowly. He reaches for the nightstand and takes a bottle of lube I’d forgotten was there, smoothing it gently over me and then going for his cock.

“May I?” I ask, taking the bottle from his hand. He nods and his eyes light up as I smooth the silky liquid over his shaft, feeling the veins and ridges beneath my fingertips.

Tom guides himself to me, rubbing the head over my clit before positioning it at my entrance. As he pushes gently I feel myself stretch and I can feel his eyes examining mine as he pulls back and pushes against me again, sliding easily across my taut skin. My mouth falls open as my breathing quickens with anticipation, and Tom rubs my thigh with his hand.

“Relax, darling.”

“I’m trying.”

He leans in and kisses my mouth, his tongue thrusting slowly into my mouth in time with his cock pushing gently into my sex. Every few thrusts he stops and rubs between my folds, making me moan as he stimulates my clit. When he finally breaks the kiss I can feel the ridge of his head against my tight entry and I clench a little knowing his girth is going to breach the tender skin.

Tom strokes my face and keeps himself pressed against me, resting his forehead on mine and tracing down my neck to my side as I relax enough to allow him entrance. I gasp at the pleasure of his girth and the discomfort of him stretching my walls and he continues gliding inside until he fills me and I whimper softly. His hands press back so he can look into my face and he brushes a few stray damp hairs from my forehead.

“Shh, darling. Is it ok?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, Tom.”

He kisses me hard and slides out slowly before pushing back in, over and over until pure delight takes over and the pain dissipates. I raise my leg around his waist and he groans, grabbing my thigh to lift it further as he moves easily in and out of me. After a few minutes when I feel him close to orgasm he slows and stops, seated deep inside me, and pushes back onto his hands to caress my face again.

“Bec, I love you. Being away from you has only made my feelings grow stronger. I think I knew it before but seeing you at the wedding it hit me like a ton of bricks and I wanted to tell the world. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He’s laughing now but I can see tears glisten in his eyes and salt water prickles the back of mine. “I love you, Tom. I wasn’t insincere before, I just didn’t choose my moment very well.”

“I’m just pissed you beat me to the punch.” He laughs and kisses me tenderly as he starts thrusting again, moving his lips down to take a breast in his mouth and gently bite my nipple.

“Oh my god,” I gasp. His cock is deep inside my cunt and with every push he grazes over my inflamed g spot. I grip his hips, my fingers dig into his flesh as I try to pull him in harder and faster, begging him to rub against me.

Tom takes one of my hands and puts it between us, my fingers resting on my clit. I only need to hold it there while he thrusts and he increases his pace slightly, moving back onto his hands and watching our bodies meet while his breathing becomes ragged and he moans into the silence. I can hear the wet sounds of his skin meeting mine, and for a few mesmerising moments I watch his beautiful thick cock disappear into my cunt while my fingers work lazily on my clit.

“God… fuck… Rebecca!” I’m overcome with another shattering orgasm as he spills into me and I feel his hot sticky cum seeping out as he gives me a few long slow strokes, my walls contracting hard around him. I cry out his name over and over and he closes his mouth over mine to calm me while he withdraws gently then lies down next to me.

Tom pulls up the covers and wraps me tight in his strong arms, my face against his chest where I am lulled by his heartbeat. He hums softly, a tune I don’t know, and I fall asleep spent and sated.


	24. Chapter 24

I wake slowly, floating to the surface of consciousness and smiling when I find Tom wrapped around me. I move his hand from the spot where it naturally rests on my lower abdomen, lacing my fingers with his and touching them with my lips. I feel him stir behind me, nuzzling my hair with his nose and groaning against my skin. I roll to my back and he catches my mouth with a deep kiss.

“Good morning beautiful.”

“Yes it is. I love waking up with your arms around me.”

He runs his hand over my belly and I cringe again before guiding it away.

“Bec. What’s going on there?”

“Where?”

“Here,” he moves his hand back down and it takes every ounce of willpower not to swat it away.

One thing Tom has done for me right from the beginning, that I didn’t know I needed, was push my limits and take me to the very edge of my comfort zone. Sometimes it is freeing and wonderful, and sometimes – like now – it’s like picking a scab that’s best left alone.

“Nothing. I just don’t want to be touched there. Can we just leave it at that?”

He tilts his head and looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Please don’t make me talk about it before then.”

“Alright,” he sighs.

“What do you want to do today?”

“I want to stay right here with you and make love to you. All day.”

“Mmm… ok.”

“I love you, Bec.”

“I love you, too.”

I never thought there would be such a thing as ‘enough’ sex with Tom, but by Monday my body is absolutely done. The sun is still barely stretching its golden fingers over the city when I wake up to a spread-limbed Tom taking up most of the bed, and I scooch over to lie on his chest.

“Mmm… good morning, love.”

“Good morning my Thomas.”

“You think we should get out of bed today?”

I shrug as best I can without moving from his warmth. “Probably. Maybe at lunchtime so you can get packed.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He pushes me to my back and straddles me, caging me in with his long limbs. His lips kiss my mouth and work down my body, all thoughts of being spent flying out the window with his soft tongue.

As his sticky seed dries on my thigh and our sweaty bodies lay tangled on top of the sheets, I take his hand and interlace our fingers, letting him touch my lower belly for the first time with my guidance. I look up at his face and clear my throat.

“This happened after we lost James. It’s swelling from all the complications and it never went away.”

Tom nods and rubs over it gently with his fingers and I use all the energy I have left to keep my face from contorting into a wince.

“Why does it bother you so much? It’s not noticeable, Bec.”

“It’s a constant reminder that my body failed him. That I failed him.”

“You didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Not directly. But so many times…” I pause to wipe my face. “So many times I thought what a nightmare it was. How I wished it hadn’t happened. And then he was gone.”

“Sweetheart, that doesn’t make you responsible. You’re entitled to your feelings, just as you’re entitled to be devastated with the outcome. You weren’t to know.”

“Anyway. You wanted to know what it was about, there it is. I was starting to get a tiny little bump before he… and then afterward it got bigger with the swelling. When I look at it, when I touch it, it just brings it all back.”

“Would you rather I didn’t touch it?”

“For a while, yeah. Not deliberately, please.”

“Ok. Thank you for telling me, darling.”

I relax into his embrace and run my hands over his muscled chest, which I’m sure is more broad and firm than before.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,”

“So do I. Imagine if we could just do this for a week.”

“Mmm.”

“We’d both go mad.”

“You’re right.” I laugh. “Three or four days would do.”

“I’ll arrange that when I get back.

“Thank you for coming, for being at the wedding. It was the most beautiful surprise.”

“You’re welcome. I did it for purely selfish reasons, I couldn’t go another week without seeing you.”

Saying goodbye after such a short time was never going to be easy, and the emotions stirred up by Tom’s surprise visit only make it harder. Once he’s out of sight I pull away and manage to stave off the tears until I get home, collapsing into a blubbering mess on the couch.

So this is what it’s like, being in love with a movie star.

Hearing him say ‘I love you, Rebecca,’ will be enough to tide me over until he returns. Partly because it has to be, but I will never tire of hearing those words.

How things can change in just one weekend…

* * *

I throw myself completely into work on Tuesday and do my best not to allow my mind to wander, until an instant message window pops up in the middle of an article.

_Tom: Hey gorgeous. Busy?_

_Becca: not too busy for you. You got back ok?_

_Tom: Yeah. I miss you. Only a few more weeks._

_Becca: I miss you, too. I’ll be counting days when you give me a date._

_Tom: Luke wants to know when we want to go public._

_A cold fear grips my insides. I’m not even sure why._

_Becca: No one knows yet, do they? What’s the rush?_

_Tom: No, they don’t. But they will. I’d really like you to meet my family when I get back._

_Becca: I’d love that. Are you going to come to Australia and meet mine, too?_

_Tom: Sure, why not :)_

_Becca: Very funny._

_Tom: And then we can announce it once all the important people know, yeah? My family already know._

_Becca: Just up there ^^^ you said no one knows!_

_Tom: They knew about you from before. Of course I told them._

_Becca: Oh. What’s the rush?_

_Tom: I just want to tell the world._

_Becca: I just want to pretend no one else exists for a bit longer._

_Tom: How about we talk about it when I’m home?_

_Becca: ok_

_Tom: Becca_

_Becca: Tom_

_Tom: I love you_

_Becca: I love you_

_Tom: I shall shout it from the rooftops_

_Becca: You shall keep it to yourself until you’re home and we can shout together_

_Tom: As you wish, my lady. I have to run, talk to you soon?_

_Becca: I hope so xx_

I love it when he swoops it and churns me up, then has to go. I just bloody love it so much I feel like I need a stiff drink.

When I’ve finished proofing the article I’m working on I call it a day and head home. The truth is my family don’t know about Tom, they wouldn’t have a clue. It was an experience akin to pulling teeth having to tell them about Nathan and James.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re all very close. We communicate with emails and texts the way other families use actual face to face conversation. It works for us, living in separate states and countries, we have a much better relationship if there’s plenty of physical distance between us. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with all of us in the same room. The more I think about my family I try to remember the last time we talked about something important other than everyone else’s news, and all I come up with is James. The aftermath, and me being sick, and Nathan and I deciding to go our separate ways. Even then, when I was in hospital signing a consent form to have my reproductive organs removed if they couldn’t stop the bleeding it was Nathan on the phone to mum, not me.

As if on cue, my phone rings and I see my younger brother’s face on the screen.

“Hi Sam,” I answer. “How’s things?”

“Good, Becca. How’s London?”

“Great. I’m really loving it here.”

“I’m really happy for you. Listen, Abby wants to talk to you so I’m going to put her on.”

“Ok.”

I hear a sort of scuffle happening before I hear the melodious voice of Sam’s wife.

“Hi, Becca. Your brother is a big fucking chicken, did you know that?”

“I knew he was chicken, yeah. The fucking part has me a little confused. What’s up?”

“We have something, um… some news to tell you.”

“I’m listening. Spit it out.”

“I’m… we’re… well I’m pregnant.”

“That’s fantastic, Abby! Oh my god I’m so happy for you! When are you due?”

“Around the end of July.”

“That’s not far away.”

“Like I said, your brother is a chicken. He told me he’d told you weeks ago.”

“Would you put him back on the phone, please?”

Muffled whispers again before there’s silence and I know he’s there, he’s just not talking.

“Samuel?”

“Yes.” He says as though he expects me to reach through the phone and slap him. Come to think of it…

“If I could reach down this god damned phone and slap you, I would. What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, Becca. I just… after everything that happened, you must still be traumatised. We found out it was before you left, but-”

“Did you know at Christmas?”

Silence.

“Samuel, answer me.”

“I’m nodding because I know you’re going to yell.”

“You’re damn fucking right I’m going to yell. Did everyone know? Don’t nod.”

“Yes,” he squeaks. “I’m so sorry, Becca. I couldn’t hurt you like that. It was still so raw for you, we could see you were still hurting.”

“For the record, it would have hurt. It also would have made me really happy for you, and I could have shown it in person. It isn’t your job to protect me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re having a baby. You should be happy. Now put Abby back on.” I hate to think it, but I find it difficult to be angry with Abby. Perhaps because I haven’t had to deal with her most of my life like I have Sam.

“I’m here, Becca. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what else to say. I wanted to tell you, I really did.”

“Was everyone in on it?” My voice is starting to shake and I take a deep breath to steady it, not that it helps when I hear the answer.

“Yes.”

“Please tell Sam, Coby and my dear mother and father that I’m fucking furious with all of them. In case they’re wondering why I haven’t called. Which they won’t. Because we’re all fucked up and can’t actually talk to one another, we just type furiously or with light happy strokes depending on our mood. Fuck!”

“Becca-”

“You’re sorry, I know.” Deep breath. I lower my voice. “I’m really happy for you, I promise. And I’m sorry you had to listen to that.”

“It was well deserved. I should have spoken up.”

“No one speaks up in our family, Abby. You know that. We use capitals.”

“I should have used capitals, then. And lots of exclamation points. Perhaps a few loud emoticons.” She’s starting to giggle now, and I can’t possibly direct my anger at her.

“Let’s not get carried away now. Thank you for telling me. Do you know what you’re having?”

“No, it’s a surprise. I promise to keep you posted from now on.”

“Thanks, honey.”

I hang up and stare at the screen for a few seconds. Was I just feeling guilty for not telling them about Tom, even though it’s only very early?

I type a very long ‘my family sucks’ message to Tom, and then promptly delete it without sending. I do this often if I need to vent, I feel vindicated and no one has to actually bear the brunt of my fury.


	25. Chapter 25

When I wake the next morning I have twenty messages from various family members and I leave them unread because I don’t want to deal with any of them right now.

Although London has started to warm up heading into Spring it takes a chilly turn on Friday and I spend the weekend holed up with a book on the couch. It’s such a relaxing change I don’t notice that my phone doesn’t ring or alert me to emails or messages.

Monday is the beginning of a new issue, with assignments going out, new content planned and layouts designed. I assign myself to seven events over the next three weeks to keep busy and give us a bit of a boost. Prue has been underutilising me since I returned and I’m determined to prove I’m neither sick nor made of fine china.

Prue returns with an almost unnatural tan that makes me insanely jealous, having spent her two weeks in the Maldives. She’s mostly settled back in by Thursday; she’s shown me all of the photos, told me all of the romantic and funny stories of her trip and been updated on the new issue.

Of course she wants to talk about Tom. I’ve avoided it until now because I feel I might just melt through the floor or float through the ceiling if we start talking about him. God knows what will happen when he comes back and I can see him regularly, he’s ignited a fire in me and the coals are burning hot enough to melt platinum.

“You’re in love with him,” she says simply. I can’t hide the smile on my face or the flush in my cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually admitted it? Have you told him?”

“Yes,” I squeak. I leave out the details of the declaration, given it’s a moment I’d rather not share. I feel that my timing on that will haunt me forever.

“And I assume he reciprocated, because it was obvious to everyone else at the wedding.”

“Was it?”

“Sweetie, that kiss overshadowed mine and Henry’s!”

“Oops. Yes, he did. Is it hot in here?”

“Ooh, you’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you like this before, it’s adorable.”

“It is not. Please can we talk about work now?”

“Yes, there’s something I did want to discuss with you. You’ve put in far too many events for yourself.”

“I haven’t, I can do it. If I can’t, I’ll cut back.”

“Becca-”

“I’m not made of glass, Prue! I can do this, and I need to stay occupied.”

“Find a hobby.”

“I have a hobby - photography. And I do far too little of it since my promotion, so please let me do this.”

She lets out the breath she’s been holding in a sigh and I know I’ve got her. “Fine,” she says, tight-lipped. “But if I say back off, you back off.”

“Yes, sir. Do I have to call you Mrs McBitchypants now?” I smile.

“Don’t push your luck, miss.”

Tom and I are finding a bit of a rhythm, he calls while he’s having lunch or first thing in the morning so I talk to him in the evening. If I don’t hear from him I call him first thing when I wake up. It works well most days, except for his ‘accidental’ surprise messages in the middle of the night because he forgets the time difference, or when his impatience gets the better of him.

After a theatre premiere on Wednesday evening I kick my shoes off and flop onto the couch to check my phone. I had told Tom I’d be photographing this evening but apparently he forgot.

_*3 missed calls from Puddles*_

_T: what are you up to, gorgeous?_

_T: Becca?_

_T: Bec_

_T: Bec_

_T: REBECCA?_

_*2 missed calls from Puddles*_

_T: I’m thinking you’ve left your phone on silent by accident, you goose._

_T: Can you call me please?_

_T: Shit. You had a thing. Was that tonight? I think it was tonight, I’ve got my days muddled up again._

_T: I’m sorry. When will someone develop the ability to retract unread texts?_

_T: Call me when you can, darling. In the morning is fine if you’re tired. I love you xxx_

_B: You’re hopeless, Hiddleston. Are you free now or do you want me to wait until morning?_

The phone rings a few seconds later and he spends a good thirty seconds apologising.

“Tom, it’s fine. You forgot, it’s fine.”

“It’s not, I was being so… needy!”

“You were a little needy. But honestly, it’s fine. How’s LA?”

“Very warm.”

“Same here, I could get used to spring.”

“Just wait until summer, it gets positively balmy.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now. I’m used to forty degrees, remember.”

“Shit, they’re calling me. I’m sorry. Get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow. I love you, Bec.”

“Love you too, Puddles.”

I fight the urge to open my laptop and start editing and decide to have an early night instead.

My cunning plan is working; the more work I cram into the day the faster the time passes. I’m going to bed exhausted every night and although Rachel and I are spending less time together because she’s spending it with Drew, we make the most of every night out we have. In early May the London spring is warm and green and I’m taken by the beauty of it, motivated to take photos in the park at sunrise or travel a bit further out of my comfort zone on weekends.

I’m in the middle of a rather pleasant dream involving Tom surprising me at home in the middle of the night when my phone wakes me and I grumble at its lack of courtesy. There is a message from Tom.

_T: I’m coming home, baby. We wrap next Thursday, party on Friday and I’ll be home Saturday evening._

I’m celebrating with a yawn when another one follows.

_T: You should come over and come to the party. Think about it and call me when you wake up._

I love the way he invites me over to LA as though it’s just next door. Just because he can hop over there any time doesn’t make it so easy for us mere mortals. He answers my call before it rings on my end.

“Hello, darling. Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but that’s the nicest middle of the night wake up I’ve had in a while.”

“Remind me to rectify that when I’m home.”

“That’s great news, you’re finishing up a bit early?”

“Yeah. Can you come over?”

“I don’t think so. Wrap parties are for cast and crew anyway, not for hangers-on.”

“You are much more than a hanger-on, love. And you know that’s not true, I’m sure you’ve been to a few?”

“A couple in Australia, yeah. You know what else they’re always riddled with? Photographers.”

“What are you so worried about? That someone will see us together? You were fine with it at the wedding.”

“That was only a few people and I lost my composure because you surprised me. There weren’t any media there.”

“Except most of the guests who work for magazines.”

“Tom-”

“I know. It’s ok, I understand. I’d be disappointed if I was in London, but when you combine it with a long flight only to turn around and come back, I understand. The offer’s there if you change your mind, otherwise I’ll see you when I get home.”

“You’d better be coming straight here.”

“Of course. If you’re lucky I’ll even wake you up when I get there.” I don’t need to see him to see the accompanying wink and eyebrows.

“I love you, Tom.”

“I love you, Becca. Get some sleep.”

“Says the man who interrupted it.”

“Ehehehe.”

_Laugh it up, Thomas._

* * *

Another week, another celebrity event, and I’m getting my groove back. Only on rare occasions will a posed red carpet photograph appear in Lion and Lace, we much prefer capturing a moment of reflection or a laugh between old friends. I find myself distracted by the couples at these events, the ones who are open and established and the ones who are new and less hands-on. I can not imagine myself being on the other side of the rope, being asked to step aside so they can get Tom alone, ignored by interviewers who think the story will sell better if he appears alone.

Just because I like to go against the grain, those are the moments I’ll wait hours for. Interlaced fingers, hands giving a reassuring squeeze before they are separated, a protective arm around shoulders or an intimate touch of fingertips to waist. I have no intention of outing anyone who hasn’t gone public, and we always get permission before we publish, but those are what make me feel more like a wildlife photographer than an entertainment photographer or that other awful p-word. If I had to disguise myself as an Oscar statue to get that moment where a shy couple steals a kiss when they think no one is watching, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

Actually, I’d do that just to go to the Oscars. One day.

As I make the trek back to my apartment – on foot in the warm spring evening – my phone beeps with a message from Tom.

_T: Wrapped. Packed. Ready to party and then I’ll be on my way!_

_T: Wish you were here xx_

_I wait until I’m home to reply._

_B: You’re a day early! Can’t wait to see you xx enjoy the party, you’ve earned it._

_T: You know me, I’m not all that interested in parties ;)_

_B: Yeah, right. I’m sure there will be no singing, dancing, drinking or other shenanigans from you. You’re such a shy little wallflower._

_T: Haha. I promise to stay away from the shenanigans, but the rest is fair game._

_B: Meh, if you’re going to party you might as well do it right._

_T: I love you_

_B: I love you_

_B: Tom?_

_T: Yes love?_

_B: Don’t drunk dial me, ok?_

_T: Lol ok. Promise._

_T: I’ll call you from LAX_

_B: Can’t wait xxx_

All day Friday I feel jittery and uneasy, almost like I’ve had too much coffee. Perhaps two before lunch is too much?

Prue appears in my doorway and I almost jump out of my skin.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know, I just feel really anxious and agitated.”

“Are those photos from the other night ready to go?”

“Yes, they’ve been sent to layout to be put online. We’ll proof it before it goes live, I’ll come and see you when it’s ready.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Just as she leaves my office phone rings, and when I answer the instability of my emotions goes into overdrive.

“Becca? It’s mum. And Coby’s here, too. Can you talk?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, darling. We just don’t get to talk very often and we had the opportunity. Is now a good time?”

“You know I’m at work, because you called my office. But yeah, it’s fine.”

“Great! Hold on, we’re getting your dad and Sam on as well.”

“Mum? Who died?”

I can hear mumbled whispering and the occasional hissed expletive but I don’t get an answer.

“Oh god, who died?!”

“What? No one!” Coby says. “Mum just doesn’t know how to work the phone. Hold on.”

More mumbling, loud beeping, mum threatening to send the phone to an early electronic grave…

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Did it work?”

I hear “Yes” in surround sound from Sam, dad and Abby.

“Becca?”

“I’m still here. Still wondering what this is about.”

“We all owe you an apology,” mum says. “For keeping Abby’s news from you at Christmas.”

“Yes, you do.”

“We know, sweetheart. We just thought it would save you some hurt-”

“Do you really think it hurt any less,” I cut dad off. “Do you really think it would have made losing my son any worse? You couldn’t have! And not one of you has mentioned him, no one has asked how I’m doing. None of you even know his name, because no one but Abby bothered to ask! And for the record, I’d have been ecstatic about Abby being pregnant. There was six months in between, and I wish I’d had the news in person and not over the phone when she’s about to drop!”

My face is red, I’m puffing a little and Prue has quietly wandered over and closed my door. Now the whole office knows my business.

“It was James, by the way. James Nathaniel.”

There is silence on the other end. I imagine they’re all gaping at their phones not knowing what to say. Or they’ve decided I’m crazy and have hung up.

“We’re all so sorry, sweetheart,” Dad says gently. “I guess we thought if you wanted to talk about it you’d bring it up.”

“How and when, dad? No one in this family actually talks. No one asks, in case the conversation gets awkward. We all just live in our own little bubbles, connected by the odd text. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking sad.”

“Becca.”

“Sorry, mum.”

Perhaps that’s why we don’t talk, no offensive words to harm my mother’s precious innocent ears.

“No,” she laughs quietly. “I was going to tell you how sorry I am. My daughter lost her baby and I wasn’t even there. I assumed you’d want to process it in your own time, with Nathan, so I left you alone.”

“There were times I could have done with a mum. Sometimes a girl just needs her mum. And you were too god damn busy to visit, you just let Nathan give you all the details and went back to what you were doing.”

“That’s not fair, Becca.” Coby chimes in. “She was devastated for you. She just didn’t know how to help.”

Tears prickle the back of my eyes, and I curse them for insisting we do this in the middle of a work day.

“We can’t change it now, it’s all over and done. How are you feeling, Abby?”

“Good, yeah. Got the nursery set up, and-” She’s interrupted by a throat-clearing so loud I move the handset away from my ear. “Yeah. I feel good.”

“Please don’t treat me differently. I’m a big girl, and I’ve moved on. Yes, it makes me wonder how things might have turned out if he’d been born healthy. But I’m not going to go catatonic on you if you mention baby things. Abby and I can talk about it later, and I want to hear every detail.”

“Ok, honey. Deal.”

“Unless you have further news – anyone dying, getting married, getting divorced?”

A chorus of ‘No’s’ come through the phone.

“Then I should get back to work. You are all forgiven, and we should pick a time convenient for everyone and Skype or something instead of texting.”

“Yes, Becca. We will. We love you.”

“I love you all, too.”

I hang up and comb my fingers through the ends of my hair while staring blankly at my computer screen. After a few minutes I stand and quietly open the door before I sit back down and try to get back to work.

“You ok?” Prue asks gently.

“Yeah. Sorry. That was my family having a conversation. We’re not very good at it.”

“Evidently.”

“My sister-in-law is pregnant, and they only told me a few days ago. She’s due in July, they all knew at Christmas and they all lied to me.”

“Oh.”

“I know they were trying to protect me, but it runs deeper than that. None of them ask about James, or how I’m doing. I hardly saw mum while I was sick. We don’t talk, we text, and we don’t even do that very well. I love them dearly but we barely know one another.”

“Why don’t you go home early, you’ve worked so many extra hours lately. Go home and get ready for lover boy’s return. Has he left yet?”

“No, he’s going to call from the airport. They moved everything forward a day and I’m all out of whack with the times now. I think he’s partying.”

“Go home, Becca.”

“Honestly that is the last thing I want to do. I need to stay occupied or I will go insane waiting for him.”

“Ok,” she sighs. “Can’t get good staff these days.”

I laugh as she walks away and turn back to my computer. I’m sure I was doing something important before all of this.

At 5:30 Prue orders me out as she leaves and I promise to be right behind her. I’m still there at 7:00, playing with some different filters and edits on the most recent photos since everything else is done.   
I’m starting to wonder about Tom. What he’s doing, when he’ll be here. I don’t want to call, but curiosity gets the better of me just as I’m packing up to leave.

His phone goes to voicemail. Maybe he’s already on a flight home. A rough calculation in my head tells me that probably is the case, but then why wouldn’t he call and let me know.

‘You’re being needy,’ I tell myself, ‘and you’re worrying for nothing.’

I console myself with a takeaway pizza and red wine for dinner, falling asleep on the couch in the middle of Harry Potter. A few hours later I wake disoriented to my phone buzzing next to my cheek and see a message from Tom.

_T: Are you awake?_

_B: Yeah. Where are you?_

_T: On my way_

_B: Ok_

_T: If you can wait a bit I’ll call you_

_I look at my watch and sigh, it’s just after midnight. What’s another hour?_

_B: Ok_

I strip down to my shirt and panties and lie down in bed with the phone in my hand. Disgruntled doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction when it wakes me an hour and a half later.

“Hi,” I croak.

“I’m sorry, darling. It took a little longer than I expected to get through customs. If you could get up and open the door I promise to make it up to you.”

“Huh?” My sleepy brain can’t process his words.

“I’m outside your door, love.”

“I thought you were still in LA?”

“Do you think you could just open the door?” He laughs.

I hang up the phone and stumble to the door to open it. He drops his bags inside while I latch it closed and I promptly collapse into him.

“You’re here.” I whisper. “You’re really here.”

“I’m really here. Come on,” he picks me up and carries me back to the bedroom. The poor, patient man has just flown from LA and come straight to my flat, and I’m sleeping soundly before he can remove his shoes.


	26. Chapter 26

When I wake up his lips are on the back of my neck, his nose in my hair and his hands roaming my body. Pale sunlight barely illuminates the room enough for me to see, but my body is already responding to his familiar touch and I mewl as I turn my head toward him.

“I’m sorry, my love. Did I wake you?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I’m still dreaming.”

I grind my hips back against him and feel his hard erection press into me. He pulls my leg back over his thigh and trails one hand down to my folds while the other teases my nipple to a straining point. His mouth is licking and sucking at my shoulder and I comb my fingers into his hair to pull his mouth to mine.

He growls as he finds my wet, wanting sex with his fingers, stretching and teasing the burning skin and rubbing my juices over my clit. I can feel him grinding against me, his cock rubbing against my ass.

I suddenly pull away and take the lube from the nightstand and he watches me carefully while I lie back down on my side this time facing him.

“What are you up to?” He smirks while my hands move under the covers.

“You’ll see.” I lean in to kiss him hungrily and stroke his shaft with a lubed hand, covering his length in a slippery sheen.

When I turn back over I guide him back to me, not to my sex but between my cheeks where I put the rest of the cool clear liquid. I return my leg to its former position and put his hands back where they were, smiling as I reach behind to grab his hip and pull him against me.

“Carry on.”

He starts to glide over the skin between my cheeks, moaning deep into my ear while he rubs my g spot with the tip of his finger and moves back to my clit.

“God, that’s so hot.” He says into my ear.

“I had a feeling you’d like that, the way you were rubbing it against me.”

“I might have been just a teeny bit horny.”

“Ahh… you’ve certainly woken me up.” I can already feel an orgasm building as he strokes and teases my clit, making it swell and harden under his touch. My sex is throbbing, swelling with blood flow and begging in desperation to be filled.

After a few minutes I’m tugging at his hips and his hair as I come apart, moaning loud into the early morning.

“I want you inside, Tom. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles. “Not like this. I want to see you.”

I roll over in his arms and take his cock firmly in my hand, using the surprise to my advantage and flipping him to his back. Holding him in my hand I straddle him and sink down on to his shaft, pushing past the slight resistance until he fills me. I can feel my walls still spasming around him as he stretches me, and he moans his beautiful deep, breathy moan when I circle my hips.

Tom sits upright and puts his arms around to my lower back, massaging with strong fingers as I begin to move and thrust over his shaft. The exquisite fullness in my cunt has me moaning hard into his mouth as our lips and tongues meet, my fingernails digging in as I grip his shoulders.

The sight of his flushed face, his chest glistening with sweat, and the intensity in his eyes as he fights to keep control takes my breath away, and I’m on the brink of another shuddering orgasm.

“Fill me with cum, baby. I want to feel you explode.”

He growls and bites down on my shoulder and I feel his balls tense under me as he snaps his hips up to meet my thrusts. As soon as I feel him spilling into me I shatter and collapse around him, heaving for breath and contracting around his cock until our mixed fluids are spilling out over him.

We stay in this position for what feels like an age, kissing tenderly and letting our tongues say the words our brains can’t yet formulate. When I pull away my lips are bruised from being crushed against his and I can’t feel anything below my thighs. Tom lays me gently on the bed and cuddles me against his chest, holding the back of my head and stroking his fingers through my hair, breathing in my scent as we both fall back to sleep.

The next time I wake I’m disoriented, looking at the rumpled bedclothes and wondering what I was up to in my sleep until I hear Tom’s voice in the kitchen. I assume he’s on the phone, and the conversation he’s having isn’t a pleasant one.

“Fuck… shit… Luke, help me. What do I do?”

A few seconds silence and a heavy, shuddering sigh that makes me want to leap up and hug him. I sit up and grab the first piece of clothing I can find; his shirt.

“No, it didn’t… you don’t understand… it was nothing.”

“She’s lying. That never happened.”

“No, this is your job. Fix this. Today.”

I’ve never seen such tension emanate from one person, and when he sees me coming toward him he almost jumps out of his skin.

“What’s wrong?” I ask gently.

“Nothing, darling. Just some idiot crew member trying to ruin my reputation with slander. Nothing for you to worry about.” He pulls me close and kisses my hair.

“Breakfast?”

“What sort of breakfast were you thinking?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I was thinking the food kind. Bacon, eggs, toast.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you dare look disappointed!” I scold him, waving a finger at his chest.

“I’m not.” He raises his hands in surrender. I turn and head toward the bench, but I can hear him mumble behind me. “You won’t be, either.”

“What?”

“What?”

I laugh while I pull out a pan and ingredients from the fridge and Tom goes to the bedroom, returning in a pair of faded jeans rather than the boxers he was wearing earlier.

He waits until I’ve got the bacon cooking on a low heat before he presses me into the counter with a heated kiss.

“Becca, you can not under any circumstances cook while wearing nothing but my shirt.”

“Since when?”

“Since it looks so fucking sexy on you and when you reached up for the oil just now I saw your bare ass. Prepare to be punished.”

“Tom!” I squeal. He lifts me onto the corner bench and stands between my legs, his fingers undoing the three buttons I bothered with on the front of his shirt. His lips close over my breast while his fingers slip easily inside until I groan with pleasure.

“How flexible are you?” He whispers in my ear.

“Why?” I squeak, wondering if his punishment is going to involve some sort of contortion.

“Just tell me if you’re uncomfortable?”

I nod and he spreads my thighs slowly, straightening my legs out and up until they are at ninety degrees in line with the corner of the bench and my pussy is on the edge. He stands back for a moment to admire me until I blush all over – literally all over – and he growls as he presses himself against me once more.

“This is more the breakfast I had in mind.”

“Tom… the bacon…” He reaches over and flicks the almost done bacon to off.

“Now I don’t have to rush.”

He begins at my neck; kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling and moving down with each one. Over my breasts, sucking my nipples into straining peaks, over my ribs and my stomach, my inner thighs. He kneels on the kitchen floor and looks up at me with dark eyes before his tongue slowly extends from his lips and into my folds.

Tom’s skillful lips, tongue and fingers castigate and discipline me until I beg for mercy, my howls pleading for release.

By the time we get to the actual breakfast my legs quiver like jelly and Tom has a grin like the cat that stole the cream.

After a long and very steamy shower, we both get dressed and go to Tom’s house. Although this was the plan all along, he seems reluctant today and I have to remind him that he needs to get fresh clothes at least. Eventually he concedes but when we arrive I understand why – there are paparazzi all over his street. I hear him curse under his breath and as soon as we’re out of sight he sends a text, his fingers flying furiously over the keyboard on his phone before he shakes it off.

“Right. Do you want to stay here, with that circus outside, or do you want to go back to yours?”

“What’s that about? It’s never happened before.”

“Like I said, pain in my ass crew member. I was trying to protect you from all of this.”

“You don’t need to protect me, I’m a big girl. Didn’t you want to go and see your mum this weekend?”

“Oh, ah… no. Maybe next week or the week after? It’s not important. I can see her during the week.”

My heart drops into my shoes. Not so long ago he was desperate for me to meet his family, to take me out in public. Is this because I was reluctant, or does he not want that anymore?

“Tom, I’m happy to meet your family. I know I was a bit taken aback when you first mentioned it-”

“You will, Becca. Just not this weekend, alright?” He snaps.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Has it occurred to you that I wanted to keep you out of this little shitstorm?”

“But I’m no one, why would they-”

“Or maybe I don’t want paparazzi hanging around mum’s house?”

Tom doesn’t really yell, but he does change his tone and it goes from loving and warm to cold and sharp with the flick of a switch. I open my mouth to ask what the difference is if he goes alone during the week, but think better of it and close it again. I sit down on the couch and brush my fingertips roughly through the ends of my hair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Whatever you want to do is fine. If you want me to go home, that’s fine too.”

“That would make it all better, wouldn’t it. Pictures of you leaving my house plastered all over the internet.”

“Now you’re not even making sense. Tom, I am going to sit right here while you decide what we’re doing the rest of the weekend. I’m not saying any more because I seem to be pissing you off with every word.”

He huffs off to the bedroom with his bags and I wonder how we went from eating me for breakfast to this.

While he’s pottering around, I curl my legs up and rest my head in my hand. The next thing I know he’s waking me gently, lifting me onto his lap and cuddling me against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He says into my hair. “I hate this. I hate my character being questioned and people who think it’s ok to say whatever about whoever and get away with it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just saying I’m a womaniser who sleeps around with the crew on every film, leads them on and treats them like shit.”

“Surely no one would believe that if it’s just one person and she has no proof?”

“You’d be surprised. Once it’s on the internet…”

“Can Luke do anything?”

“He’s trying. I hope. Do you mind if we go back to yours and I’ll just come home on Monday?”

“Not at all. I need to get groceries, though. How about you drop me off at the supermarket and I’ll meet you at home?”

He frowns and scratches his jaw. “Yeah, ok. What do you need?”

“Food, Tom. I need food. To eat. I shop on Saturday morning.”

“What if we just got food delivered?”

Now it’s my turn to frown. “Am I going to be hassled about you if I go to the shops?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shit.” I take a deep breath. Surely the worst that could happen is they’d ask what he’s really like, or confirmation that we’re dating. “Alright, we’ll go back to mine and I’ll walk. There wasn’t anyone there this morning, no one knows where I live.”

He nods his head and kisses my lips. “I really wanted to protect you from all of this. Whatever happens, whatever you hear, you remember that I love you. And I have loved you all this time. Promise me.”

“I know-”

“Promise me.” He pleads.

“I promise. You love me, I know. I love you too. And I know better than to believe everything I read.”

I’m a little disappointed that Tom is so reluctant to go anywhere, and I hope this will blow over soon because the weather is so beautiful it seems a waste to be shut up indoors. On the other hand, if I have to spend a weekend indoors, I could do worse for company. He really need not have bothered going home for clothes.

“What’s next for you?” I ask on Sunday evening. I believe this is the earliest I’ve been in bed since I was five years old, after toasted sandwiches and wine for dinner I was rather haphazardly scooped off the couch and brought to the bedroom, teased and taunted to within an inch of my life and then tossed into an abyss of multiple orgasms. Even so, it’s just gone 9pm and I’m not feeling at all sleepy.

“I have a few meetings lined up here, a few in the States. I’m waiting for confirmation on a theatre role that I’m really excited about. In between I have promo for the new Avengers film and research for the Spielberg role next year.”

“Wow.” Now I feel sleepy.

“I have almost a month off, though. I was actually going to ask if we could go away somewhere. Somewhere quiet and secluded.”

“Mmm. And warm.”

“We could get one of those villas on the water where they deliver your meals and you can swim in the ocean. We wouldn’t have to put clothes on the entire time.”

“I’m starting to think you only want me for one thing, Thomas. And that you’ve done this before.”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to. And I want you for much more than just your body. I mean, there’s your flat which is perfect for hiding out. There’s your cooking skills, that breakfast yesterday morning was delicious. I think I can still taste it when I lick my lips.”

“Tom!”

“You have a lovely voice, especially when you’re screaming my name.”

“If you want more of that you’ll stop now.”

I reach over to the nightstand and get my book, lying on my front and propping up onto my elbows. Tom wanders out to his bag and switches off the lights on his way back, leaving us both reading by lamplight. When I look up he has his glasses on and I can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds… just when I thought he couldn’t get any more sexy he has to bring those out.

When my eyes start to get sleepy I lie flat with my head resting on my arms and let them close, and then a light hand is trailing over my skin and sending shivers down my spine. Just when I think he must want to go again, he starts reading to me while he strokes my back.

I have no idea what he’s reading, it could be the dictionary and I still wouldn’t comprehend the words. His deep smooth voice flows into my brain like a good whisky smooths down to my belly and warms from the inside out; and it’s just as intoxicating. Tom’s eloquence and articulation soothe me to a deep sleep in a few minutes as though he’s singing a lullaby.


	27. Chapter 27

I leave Tom naked and utterly expended in bed the next morning after a quick shower that ended with us both back between the sheets. I insisted he stay there as long as he liked and for the first morning this year I’m running late for work.

Prue calls out to me on my way past. “Just put your stuff down and come back, please?”

“Ok,” I call back and do as she asks, relieved to find a coffee waiting for me on her desk.

“This isn’t about me being late, is it? Because it’s the first time in a year.”

“No, sweetie. It’s… I have to show you something. I wish I didn’t, but I’m your friend and I can’t just let it go.”

“What’s going on?”

“Something’s come out over the weekend.”

“Is this about Tom? The woman that’s saying he sleeps around?”

“He told you?”

“He told me some crew member is telling stories about him.”

She nods. “From the wrap party. There are photos, Becca.”

“We all know how they can be misconstrued. Look at the ones from his birthday.”

“Sweetie, I do know. And I wouldn’t worry you with it if I didn’t think it was something. It might be nothing, but it looks bad.”

“Show me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m fucking sure. If my… Tom is seeing another woman I need to see!”

She starts clicking with her mouse and I start fidgeting with a letter opener from her desk. Finally she turns her monitor around and there is a full screen photo displayed. The man is definitely Tom, I’d be able to pick his profile a mile away and I’m sure thousands of other women could, too. He’s wearing the light blue button shirt that I love, with his sleeves rolled up, and that’s his watch…

That’s his watch, on his wrist attached to his hand, which is on the cheek of a blonde woman. His fingertips are stretched out into her hair, his eyes are closed and their lips are most certainly kissing. Not the ‘it’s been great working with you’ type peck that might accidentally end with lips on lips, but an open mouthed kiss. It’s magnified and grainy but it’s enough to be obvious. Enough to make my stomach twist around on itself until I feel sick. Enough to make tears well in my eyes.

“Fuck.” I choke out as I stand up.

“Sweetie, I’m-”

“Don’t. Please.”

Out of Prue’s office I go straight to mine and close the door with more restraint than I thought I possessed, and sit on the floor against it. I want to call Tom and scream at him, but I also want to never see him again. The rest of me wants him to give me a rational explanation, and the rational part of me knows there can’t be one. There can’t be.

This can’t be happening. He said he loved me.

It feels like a week has passed when Prue knocks on the door with a fingernail. “Becca?” She whispers. “Please let me in.”

I shuffle across the floor so she can open the door and she closes it behind her to fill my previous position. “I’m sorry, honey. What can I do?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing to do. Thank you for telling me.”

“The photo is on another actor’s Instagram, they just happened to be in the background. She’s taken it down, now.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And I assume it’s everywhere?”

“The woman is pretty keen to tell her story, too. She’s asking a fair whack of money for it.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe he really is what she says.”

“I don’t think you believe that.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I believe. This morning I believed he loved me. He said he loved me. He wanted us to go away for a few days. Last week he wanted me to meet his parents and he wanted to-” Fresh sobs cut me off, the reason for his change of heart bouncing around my brain. “He changed his mind. He fucked her and he changed his mind.”

“Becca-”

“And then he came home and fucked me. I feel sick.”

“Breathe, honey. Why don’t I take you home, get you some tea?”

“I can’t, he’s there. I can’t talk to him yet. I just want to be alone for a bit.”

“Come get me if you want anything, ok?” She holds her hand out. “Hand over the weapon, please.”

I look down and see her letter opener still in my hand, I’ve been fidgeting with it since I was in her office.

Another hour passes and my legs have long fallen asleep when I stand up and move to my desk. I take out my phone and write a message to Tom. Actually I write about five, but I only send the last one. ‘I’m coming home in a little while and have things to do. I think you should go back to your house.’

It rings in my hand and I silence it without looking at the screen, pushing the call to voicemail. He calls fifteen times, leaves messages that I ignore, and sends me texts I refuse to read. Instead I try to keep myself busy with work until the calls and messages stop, and I hope that means he’s decided to give me some breathing room.

Prue brings me a coffee, wordless as she enters and leaves my office and closes the door. While I’m drinking it I hear a commotion outside the door, I can tell there are harsh words being spoken but without raised voices I can’t make them out. Prue doesn’t yell unless she is under extreme stress, so when I hear her volume increasing I know it’s serious.

“I said no. She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Don’t make me call security. Wouldn’t that picture look good all over the internet. We’re really starting to see your true colours, aren’t we!”

I move to the door and put my hand on the handle to open it, but the next raised voice has me frozen to the spot.

“I can explain. You have to let me explain! Becca! Please, darling.”

He’s right on the other side of the door, so close I can hear him breathing heavily as though he just ran here from my house.

“Go home, Tom.” Prue says sharply.

“Not until I see her. Please, Bec. I love you.”

The sentiment thaws me from frozen to boiling point in a split second, and I open the door enough that he can hear me. My voice is much calmer than I expect, and if I wasn’t so furious and hurt I’d be proud.

“You don’t get to say that. I don’t want to see you, or hear anything you have to say. Go home, Tom.”

I hear his sharp inhalation and close the door with measured force before I sit back down at my desk and turn the chair so I’m facing the wall. Prue confirms my suspicion that he’s skulked off a few minutes later, there’s been only silence in between.

“Will you let me take you home now?”

“No. I just want to be alone. Thanks for that, not letting him in.”

“What are friends for? I’ll call you later, alright?”

I gather my bag and coat, tugging the collar around my ears despite the warmer weather. When I get inside my flat I wish I’d stayed at work. He’s not here, but he’s everywhere. In my bed, in my shower, on my couch. His scent permeates the walls and I want to scrub it off.

My legs are restless, sitting or lying down is pointless. I can’t focus on television, or work, or reading.

I clean.

Every last piece of laundry is done, including the sheets and doona cover off my bed. The towels that were fresh this morning. Every surface is polished, every inch of floor vacuumed and the hard floors scrubbed. I clean the windows, the frames, the sills. When Prue calls in the early evening I’m washing the walls and the skin is starting to shed from my fingers with the mixture of noxious chemicals they’ve been subjected to.

“What am I going to do tomorrow?” I sigh as I slide down the very clean wall.

“You can come and clean mine if you like. I’ll pay you.”

A tiny smile curls one side of my mouth for a few seconds. “Do you think he really has an explanation?”

“An acceptable one? No. Perhaps he was drunk, or high, or… I don’t know, honey. I can’t think of anything that would make it ok. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong for you to forgive him if that’s what you want, though.”

“Right now I want to punch his pretty face. I want him to hurt like I hurt. I want to hate him.”

“May I suggest not talking to him yet, then. Do you want some company tonight? I can call Rach if you want.”

“No. I still have a lot of walls to keep me busy.”

“Becca, please get some rest.”

“We’ll see.”

I’m well into the night and a bottle of wine when he starts calling again. I’ve run out of walls to clean, everyone else is asleep, and I’m sitting on my bed in the dark. With the intention of going to sleep I changed into a tshirt a while ago, and I hug my cold bare legs to my chest as though they have the comfort of a familiar friend.

On his ninth attempt I stab at the speaker button without answering.

“Becca? Thank god. Please don’t hang up.”

I can’t speak. Every last drop of energy I had has just drained out of me and it’s all I can do not to collapse. I want him here, I want to be in his arms and pretend none of this has happened. But it has.

“I know you can hear me. I…” I hear his shaky breath, and a part of me takes some satisfaction from his torment. “Nothing can explain or excuse my behaviour. I-I want you to know what she’s saying is completely falsified, though. The picture you saw, that… that happened once. It was a mistake, I had way too much to drink. I’m so sorry.”

My hand covers my mouth while my overwrought brain tries to process his words. The widgets are trying to turn, but there’s a giant spanner-shaped picture of him kissing another woman jamming it all up. The sound of his soft crying finds my ears and tears at the pieces of my heart.

“Please, Bec. You have to believe me.”

I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to trust him, or listen, or hear about what really happened. It would be easier to walk away and be alone.

“She’s just trying to make money, she doesn’t mean anything to me, not like you do. You are my everything, Rebecca. The only thing you need to know is that I love you.”

I bring my fist down and mash the screen of my phone, hitting the end button on the second attempt. If I have to hear him say he loves me again I’ll scream. He no longer has the right to say the words if his actions don’t reflect them. As far as I’m aware kissing another woman doesn’t do that.

The sun glares through the open curtains and I look for something to throw at the window. Sleep obviously overcame me at some point, although I don’t recall lying down. I stumble into the bathroom and run a hot shower to wake me up, standing under the teeming water until it cools and I grumble my way back to the bedroom to get dressed.

As soon as I walk past Prue’s door I can feel her eyes on me, feel her following me to my office.

“You should be at home.”

“I’m not sick. I’m fine.”

She looks down at my hands as I type my password.

“Oh my god, Becca!” Suddenly she’s next to me, taking my raw painful hands in hers to examine them. “What happened?”

“It’s just all the products I used yesterday, it’s nothing.” I yank them back out of her grasp.

“You’ve scrubbed layers of skin off, it’s not nothing.” I grumble under my breath about her minding her own business, but she knows better. “Have you talked to him?”

I shake my head. “I listened for a minute or two. Then I hung up.”

“What did he say?”

“It was a mistake, the kiss. None of the rest is true. That I have to believe him, he’s sorry, he loves me.” I snort and look up at her.

“What?”

“He loves me, Prue. That’s why he’s kissing other women. God knows what he’s done that wasn’t on camera.”

“What are you going to do?”  
“What is there to do? It’s been hardly any time at all and I can’t trust him. Isn’t there a saying, if he cheats with you he’ll cheat on you?”

“Oh, honey.”

“How can I trust him? How can I believe anything he says? Just because he hasn’t been caught out before doesn’t mean he hasn’t done it before.”

“Well you can choose to believe in him… or not, I guess. Unfortunately it’s all up to you.”

“I can’t think. I want him back. I want the Tom that would never do this. The one whose honesty was almost a flaw.”

“If he comes here again-”

“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to cause any drama for you, though. If he’s going to make a scene again…”

“If he’s going to make a scene again I’ll knock his pretty teeth from his pretty mouth.”

A small giggle escapes my lips at the snarl in her words.

At this she leaves me to it until late afternoon, when she appears across my desk with a grin. “I was going to outsource this but I have an assignment for you. Film Festivals, in Italy. Mostly Rome, you’ll be there six days.”

“Okay.”

“Go home and pack, you leave tomorrow.”

She hands me a folder full of information; itinerary, flight bookings, accommodation and passes for the events. A week in Italy does sound appealing, in part because it’s a good distance from London. It’s warm, I haven’t been before, and I’ll be alone.

“Thank you,” I say with a tight but sincere smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying the story please consider leaving kudos and a comment to let me know :)  
> Don't beat me up too much for this chapter, though!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos. Every one makes me do a little dance (sometimes in public!). Sorry this chapter took a little longer, that pesky real life got a little hectic!

There are no words fit to describe Rome - it almost literally takes away my breath. After being here only a day I feel a little lighter, as though my woes are all safely locked away in my flat at home. They’ll be there when I get back, but for now I don’t have to deal with them because of the borders I’ve crossed. Late in the evening with my official duties completed I sip the deepest red wine I could find and call Tom.

He answers with a weary sigh. “Rebecca.”

“Hi.” I say softly.

“God it’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too.”

“Where are you?”

“Rome. Film festivals.”

“Ah, I see. Enjoy, it’s one of my favourite places in the world.”

“Tom, I just wanted to let you know I’m…”

I’m what? I’m ok? I’m out of the country? So angry, that Prue felt it necessary to put a country between us?

“You’re what, darling?”

I must have paused much longer than I realise. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. What were you going to say?”

“I’m not sure I can get past this. Trust is the foundation of a relationship, for us especially. You’re away so much, I can’t be watching you all the time and I don’t want to. I want to trust that when you go away nothing will happen. I don’t know how we get that back.”

“Anything you need, Bec. I’ll do it. Anything.”

“I just need time to think. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“I do love you.” His voice cracks and trembles.

“I know.” I try to hold back a sigh and steady my breath. “I love you, too. It wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t.”

“Bec, I can not tell you how sorry I am. I have no feelings toward her, we were talking about kissing scenes and then she was kissing me.”

“And you were kissing her.”

“Yes. I won’t lie. For a few seconds I kissed her back. I wish I could offer an explanation, but there isn’t one. I had far too much to drink and as soon as that happened I left, it was almost 4am. I’m not telling you this by way of excusing my behaviour, but I was so hungover the next morning I missed my flight. That’s why I didn’t call you, I was so ashamed. It takes a lot for me to be that hungover.”

“I believe all of that, Tom.”

“I’ll stop drinking. I’ll give it up completely.”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“I have to deal with this. Alone.”

“But I did this to you, Bec. It’s my fault.”

“Yes, it is. And you’ll have to live with whatever I decide, you’ll have to live with the fact that you hurt me and you dumped this on me. You pulled the rug out from under me, I never would have thought you’d do something like this.”

“Nor did I.”

“I have to go. I’ll talk to you when I get back I guess.”

“All right.”

I don’t intend to hang up so abruptly, but I can’t hold my voice any longer. I’ve choked back sobs and blinked back so many tears my facial muscles are cramping and as soon as the phone is out of my hand I flop forward and howl into my hands.

Two days later I’m attempting to hide my puffy eyes behind the camera when a gentle hand lands on my shoulder and a voice whispers in my ear.

“You’re at the wrong end of the carpet, deary.”

I turn and find Samantha, a friend and photographer who works for one of the larger publications.

“If you’re happy with the same shot as everyone else, yeah I guess this is the wrong end.”

“Ouch,” she hisses, pulling me into a hug. “How are you, Becca?”

“Yeah I’m good. How are you?”

“Great, we should catch up. How about coffee this afternoon?”

“Sounds good. You’ve got my number?”

“Yep. I’ll call you later.”

She disappears back through the crowd to the other end while I wait for the last couple of people to exit their cars.

We’ve barely sat down in a corner of a nearby cafe when she looks at me and lowers her voice. “I heard a rumour.” She taps the side of her nose and I laugh so loud a couple of tables turn around.

“Which one, Sam? There are about fifty just from the screening this morning! Blah hooking up with Blah even though she’s engaged to Blah but shock horror she’s not wearing the ring so it must be over!”

“I heard a rumour about you and a certain British gentleman.”

“Did you just? Which one?”

“Hiddleston.”

My skin tingles at the mere mention of his name and I will my cheeks not to blush.

“He was at Prue’s wedding, quick visit in the middle of filming. Allegedly.”

“Who told you that?”

“One of our editors was there. Apparently you two had quite the makeout session in the middle of the ceremony.”

“Ok, it was not the middle of the ceremony, it was before Prue even arrived.”

“Oh my god, it’s true?”

Oh my god, how did I fall for that?

“Lucky girl. I knew what came out last week was bullshit. She’s not getting the money she’s asking before because no one wants to touch her story.”

What they say about honour among thieves is also true to an extent in the media. We protect our own. I have no doubt the stories this woman tells about Tom will be all over the internet and more speculative publications, but those that matter won’t publish anything without proof and confirmation, and they won’t pay for slander.

“I refuse to make comment on your baseless rumours.” I smile, sipping my coffee.

“I bet you do.”

And then it hits me, like someone has swung a club into my stomach. He kissed another woman. Tom’s lips were on hers, his fingertips were in her hair and his tongue was probably moving against hers. For a blissful few moments of my conversation with an old friend, I’d forgotten and the fairy tale was put back together. Only to shatter into tiny pieces like an expensive vase – you wonder if you can glue it back together, but it will never hold water without leaking.

“Becca?”

“Hm?”

“Are you ok? You’re a funny grey colour.”

“Sorry,” I shake myself. “Yeah, I’m just a bit tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“Oh, I know. Hotel beds, no matter how luxurious, just can’t beat your own bed at home.”

“Rome is utterly wasted on me at the moment, beautiful as it is.”

I force a smile. The truth is I haven’t slept because Tom is the last thing on my mind when I fall asleep and the first every time I wake up. Which is often, and the more the knot twists in my stomach the harder it is to fall back to sleep. I’m running on around nine hours in three days now.

“So what’s going on with you, Sam?”

I try to pay attention to what she’s telling me, filling me in on her life in the few months since we’ve seen each other. Truthfully though I have some questions milling around in my brain and there’s only so much room in there, so I’m glad it’s nothing complicated and I can get by with a well placed smile or understanding question.

The following evening is my last in Rome and after dinner with Sam and a few others I decline their offer of dancing. The more I think about Tom, the more questions arise in my brain. Most can be cajoled into silence, but there is one that I must have an answer to, and it can’t wait any longer. As soon as I’m in the door of my hotel room I dial his number.

“Hello, Becca.”

“Hi,” I pour myself a glass of wine while I’m talking, and clear my throat. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Huh?”

“About the kiss. Would you have told me if I hadn’t found out? If it had just been a one-off and you’d both agreed it was a mistake?”

I can hear him sigh, and I’m fairly sure I can hear him frown and scratch his jaw the way he does. From his hesitation I already know the answer.

“No.”

One, two, three, four… I’m counting in my head, trying to keep my breath slow and calm while under the surface my mind races with all of the things he might have done and not told me about.

How far would he go and not tell me, if he didn’t get caught? Kissing? Sex? Falling in love? I don’t realise my jaw is clenched to the point of pain until a strangled cry seeps between my teeth.

“Becca, it didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake, and I knew telling you would do nothing but hurt you. I figured it was best for me to live with the guilt than burden you with it.”

“Has it happened before? Has anything like this happened before?” My voice trembles along with my chin and I don’t even bother trying to control it.

“No. God, no. If it had, I’d-”

“What? You’d have told me?”

“I’d never let it happen again, because this feeling in my gut is like a black hole trying to swallow me. I will never, as long as I live, forget how it feels to hurt someone you love as I have done out of my own stupid carelessness. I would sacrifice anything right now to make it stop.”

“I have to go.”

“Bec, please. Just talk to me.”

“I can’t. I have to go.”

“Ok.” He surrenders and I end the call, tossing my phone to the floor.

My eyes are so bloodshot and puffy I’ve taken to hiding them behind sunglasses, only removing them to use the camera and explaining my appearance away with soft mumbles about conjunctivitis. My nose looks like an alcoholic Rudolph under the vast amounts of green-base concealer and I still don’t think I’ve covered it completely.

I feel about as good as I look. A mess. For two days I’ve worked and cried and cried and worked. Half the time I’m not even sure why I’m crying anymore, the dam has burst and the tears just keep coming.

I want Tom. I miss his arms, his lips, his scent. The way his deep voice says my name, and the way his bright blue eyes sparkle when they look into mine. I miss the Tom that hasn’t kissed another woman and had no intention of telling me. That hurts far more than the kiss, it’s the lie. I’ve realised now he didn’t want me to go out that weekend because he didn’t want me to accidentally find out, and what he was trying to have Luke handle wasn’t what she was saying; it was the photographic evidence.

And yet, ashamed as I am to admit it, I wish I didn’t know. I long for the blissful ignorance of our weekend reunion.

You know those train wreck television shows where the guy is cheating and you wonder how the woman can just ignore all the signs? I understand now. Denial is a nice, warm, fluffy place where I could happily spend the rest of my days. Only I can’t, because the veil has been lifted and I’ve seen the other side.

Upon my return I feel sick every time someone in the office gives me that sympathetic look. They all know about Tom and me now, those that didn’t already were alerted to the situation by his little scene outside my office. I hate that look, it makes me feel weak.

Pitied.

Tom has called once since our last conversation and left a voicemail to say that he was spending a few days in LA next week, that he loves me and he’s sorry. I can’t bring myself to talk to him or see him, I know that I can’t think straight when I hear his voice and looking into his eyes would be my undoing.

Handling our online content means part of my job is monitoring gossip, trawling through websites and finding the truth in the rumours and speculation. I’m thankful there’s plenty of other scandals happening but Tom’s name is always there somewhere, along with the latest woman to share her ‘story’ about his womanising ways. I’m yet to find anything worth publishing; as far as the world knows he’s a single man who kissed a woman; but I have to scan over it just the same. A broken heart isn’t reason enough not to do my job.

It’s motivation to do it better and work harder. The less time I have to think about him the better.

Rachel and I are playing catch up on our girls night on Friday night. A few drinks in I’m not thinking about Tom – I’m right here in the moment dancing like an idiot and letting the fog of alcohol drown out everything else. When my poor feet beg for mercy we sit at the bar and sip cocktails; I know I’ll regret this decision tomorrow but for now I just don’t care.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant that isn’t in the room?”

“Nope.” I down the rest of my drink and follow it with a glass of water.

“Becca-”

“If you bring it up again, you’re buying the next five rounds.”

“Five? I don’t think I can handle another one!”

“You’ve gone soft.”

“We’re getting too old for this.”

“Nonsense!” I gesture to the bartender for another and he winks back at me, sending a rush of heat to my face.

I turn back to Rach, who is giving me a concerned frown. “Don’t be like that. Tell me about Drew!”

“I really like him. We’re not rushing into anything serious, but he’s a really good guy.”

“That’s good. Rushing is bad. Don’t rush.”

“Wise words from the woman with the perfect man.”

“Except for the kissing other women. I’m not sure I’m still with him.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“No.”

“You probably should. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but you can’t ignore it forever.”

“I can tonight.” I stand up and drag her to the dance floor, ignoring her complaints. Somewhere around 3am Rachel jostles me into a cab and drops me at home first, where I topple awkwardly into bed.

* * *

My phone rings from my purse and I curse whoever would make phone calls this early in the morning - only to realise it’s almost midday when I look at the screen.

“Hello?” I croak.

“Hi, Becca.”

“Nathan?”

“Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Um… no. I was just-” I move to roll over, and tug the sheet from beneath my foot. Pain stabs at the bottom of my foot, and for some reason the sheet is stuck to my burning skin. “Ow! Son of a bitch!”

“Are you ok?”

When I sit up my head feels like a lead weight flopping around on my shoulders and I look down to find a small pool of blood which has congealed and dried and stuck the fabric firmly to my foot.

“Becca?”

“Sorry. Yeah, I think I cut my foot. It’s fine. What’s up?” With the room swimming around me and the blood making me queasy I lie back on the pillow.

“Nothing, I just was thinking about you.”

“Why?”

“It was Mother’s day here a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to call you but I didn’t know what to say or if it was… I didn’t want to bring you down if you were happy, y’know?”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean I knew, Coby arranged a gift from all of us for mum. I didn’t think about me. I mean I’m not, am I?”

“A mum? Of course you are. I guess it’s up to you how you see it, but I’d say you are. I was going to call or send you something but I thought if you’re seeing someone that might be weird, getting something from your ex.”

“I’m not.” I interject. Hold up, it seems the sides of my brain aren’t connected this morning. Last I checked…

“Oh. So how’s things? I can go, if this is inappropriate or whatever.”

“No! It’s nice to hear a familiar voice. I lied, I was asleep. I’m awake now. Everything is good here, working hard. I’m settled into my flat, just come back from Italy. How about you?”

“Good, yeah. I’m going to be partner at work which is exciting.”

“That’s fantastic, you’ve worked really hard for that. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll appreciate this. Remember my family were a bit weird around Christmas and I just thought it was them being normal? Abby is pregnant.”

“That’s great, give them my congratulations.”

“I will. Nath, they knew at Christmas. She’s due in July and I found out a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh. They thought they’d protect your precious feelings?”

“You say that like I don’t have any.” I try to feign offence but I can’t hide a smile.

“You do, they’re just buried nice and deep.” He chuckles. “That wasn’t nice of them, although I suppose their hearts were in the right place.”

“Don’t you defend them.”

“Sorry. Interesting you say that, though. Lauren is pregnant too.”

“Aww, that’s great! When is she due?”

“November.”

“How did they… you know?”

“I didn’t ask.” He laughs. “Lauren is carrying, you know they had that close couple of guys and they used to joke they’d have one another’s babies?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I think one of them is the father. And if I know Lauren, there will have been a turkey baster.” I can’t help but snort and the thought, and the tone in Nathan’s voice as he considers his lesbian sister getting knocked up by turkey baster.

“They were talking about using their sperm but with Maggie’s egg and doing IVF.”

“They were until they saw the cost, yeah.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Babies all round, then. How are you feeling about Abby?”

“Just over the moon for them. It smarts a little, but I’m still really happy. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do. How are you physically now?”

“Fine. All healed. Remember the little bump that wouldn’t go away?”

“Yeah,”

“It’s still there.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I hate it. It reminds me of what we lost, of what my body did.”

“Maybe it should remind you that we had a little boy who was too good for earth, rather than carrying around that guilt all the time.”

“Well, when you put it like that,”

“Do you have anyone to talk to?”

“That actually understands? No.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Becca.”

“Yeah. Same goes for you. How are you doing, really?”

“Mostly good. Seeing dads everywhere is still kind of hard but it gets less every day. He will always be my first child, though. Maybe because they let us see him or something, but I feel like he really was a little person.”

“He was. A perfect tiny little person.”

“Are you coming home for a visit soon? Can we have coffee or something?”

“Definitely. August, I think. When Abby has the baby.”

“All right, I have to go but I’ll catch up with you then. If you want to talk just call me.”

“Likewise.”

For a few seconds after I hang up I’ve forgotten all about my foot, until I try to move again. Eventually there’s nothing for it but to peel the sheet off, and I let out a strangled scream as it tears at a gash underneath and fresh blood flows into the sheet.

My brain has stopped working, I simply can not figure out how there can be a gaping wound in my foot from my bedclothes. It doesn’t make any sense. I hobble to the kitchen for a first aid kit and grab a gauze pad and bandage to cover it while dialling Rachel’s number.

“How drunk was I last night?” I ask when she answers way too happily.

“You were pretty wasted, honey. Why?”

“Did I cut my foot?”

“Not that I remember. You took your shoes off while we were waiting for a cab, though.”

“Surely I’d have noticed. There’s a huge open wound on the sole of my foot. I’m going to need stitches.”

“Shit. Let me get dressed and I’ll come get you.”


	29. Chapter 29

Rachel arrives in her car just as I’m closing the front door and hobbling down the front steps. “Oh my god. Becca, look.” Rach is pointing down at the pavement where there are bloody footprints leading from the road to my door.

“I don’t understand.” I shake my head. “My bed is covered in blood. It’s all over my floor. It must have hurt, but I didn’t notice? I can’t have been that drunk.”

“Yeah, I’d say you were. Come on.”

* * *

The lovely Doctor Gawler sees me quickly, and insists on x-rays and a tetanus shot before he returns to stitch me up.

“There’s no glass in the wound, or anything else I can see. I’m putting you on antibiotics to be sure, because it’s been open all night. The stitches can come out in seven days, until then keep it clean and dry and try not to put too much pressure on it. If it hurts, don’t do it. I suspect you have quite the pain threshold, though.”

“Only when she’s inebriated,” Rachel laughs.

“Try not to get so inebriated then, hm? At least until it’s healed.”

“Thank you, doctor.” I blush and get out of there as quick as I can hobble.

Rachel comes back to my flat and walks me inside, washing the bedclothes and insisting I put my foot up.

“I talked to Nathan this morning.” I blurt out when she sits on the couch.

“Oh. Why?”

“He called me, he’s been thinking about me since Mother’s day over there and wanted to see how I was doing. It was actually really good to talk to him, I feel like I can be completely honest about anything with him now. I’m going to catch up with him when I’m there next.”

“That’s good. I guess it’s hard to find anyone who has been exactly where you two have.”

“Yeah, it is.”

An idea starts bouncing around my head now that my brain has woken up.

“You know what, though? It shouldn’t be. Women are ashamed, men feel like they have no right to be upset, and no one talks about it. We should.”

“You should. What are you cooking up?”

“An idea for an article.”

“Uh huh.”

“Thanks for last night, by the way. It was so good to just drink and forget about everything. Think you can back up tonight?” I wink.

“Becca! You can hardly walk!”

“I can walk into a bar and sit down. Come on, please? Bring Drew.”

“Drew is away on a boys’ weekend.”

“All the more reason!”

“Tell you what, we’ll get dinner and stay in. All right?”

“OK.” I clap my hands excitedly and Rachel laughs.

Once I’ve had a few drinks the conversation always comes around to things I wouldn’t normally talk about. Rachel knows this, and she doesn’t waste any time taking advantage of it.

“Tell me what you’re trying to drink away.”

“You don’t want to hear the details.”

“I do, really. Tell me. All the painful bits. Get it all off your chest. Better than getting hammered again and losing a limb.”

“I don’t know. A bit of everything. Tom. Nathan.”

“You’re not thinking about going back?”

“No, but I can’t forget all that happened between us either. Talking to him just brought it all back to the surface.”

“Did you guys consider trying again?”

“Not really. Nathan was so scared, he thought I was going to bleed to death or lose everything. He said he’d like to, when the time was right. Then we both agreed that we just weren’t right for each other. I know he will, when he finds the right woman.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.” A single tear falls down my cheek and I swipe it away.

“Did the doctor say that?”

“No, but… I don’t think I deserve to. I kind of feel like this pain, this guilt, is my karma for being so unhappy about something so beautiful. I wished it away. Wished him away.”

“Becca, that’s not true. You were in shock, it just took you a little longer to get excited.”

“I was after the first scare, I was attached and in love and ready to be a mum. But it was too late by then.”

“You are not being punished, Bec. Not at all. It wasn’t your fault, or anyone’s fault. And when you decide to be a mum you’ll be amazing.”

“Thanks,” I sniff. “Why did you get me into all this depressing stuff?”

“Because you need to talk about it, and you’re not.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, I can feel her eyes on me willing me to keep talking.

“I often wonder what he would have looked like, whether he’d have my temperament or Nathan’s. Would he have had my eyes, his nose? Who he could have been. We were sort of in that grey area, too. Just outside the first trimester but late enough for it to be a rare occurrence.”

“Do you have anything to remember him?”

I shake my head. “Yeah, we do. He was um… We saw him, we have photos.”

Rachel puts an arm around me and I lean into her shoulder, letting the tears flow freely over my cheeks. The ache in my chest I thought long gone has returned, the emptiness looming in my belly as I run my hand over the bump and remember what Nathan said about remembering James.

A smile peeks through my tears, remembering the promise of the tiny life rather than the loss. The healing effect he had on my relationship with Nathan, allowing us to let go and pursue our own goals.

Without James, none of that would have happened.

With scratchy red eyes and a burning nose I straighten myself up and pour us both another drink. Turning up the music on the stereo, I’m dancing around the coffee table while Rachel alternates laughing and chastising me for dancing on my sore foot.

“It’s fine! Look, it doesn’t even hurt!”

“It didn’t hurt last night either, crazy woman.”

“How is it you handle alcohol better than I do?”

“I drink at half speed. You’ve had four to my two!”

“Oh. Your loss.” I giggle.

“Someone has to keep you out of trouble. Would you sit down, please?”

Truthfully, it doesn’t hurt at all and I take that as a sign I’m not doing any harm. I’ve pulled out the few moves I can remember from the ballet classes I took thirty-ish years ago when my ankle collapses under me and suddenly I’m a cackling pile of limbs on the floor.

Rachel downs the rest of her drink and pulls me to my feet, dancing around and holding me up until we’re both crying tears of laughter.

The next thing I know I’m in the emergency room again, nursing a wicked hangover and trying not to vomit while the ever patient Dr Gawler closes the wound my dancing ripped open. I’m sent home with a bag full of clean dressings, a set of crutches and strict instructions for taking better care of the troublesome extremity.

Dancing is unfortunately not on the list of recommended activities, nor is excessive alcohol consumption.

“No drinking tonight.” Rachel scolds when she drops me off. If she was shaking her finger she could be my mother.

“I promise. Thank you. Again.”

There’s no denying I am a sorry state on Sunday afternoon, so when I get a message from Tom I’m just fragile enough to give in and reply.

> _Tom: Hi Bec, just wanted to see how you’re going. I’ll be back in a few days, could we talk then?_
> 
> _Bec: Sure. I’m fine. Let me know when you’re home._

I’m not fine. I’m miserable and I want you to hold me and make it all ok, only you can’t because you’re the source of my misery. The phone immediately starts ringing and I lob it across the room onto the carpet, removing the temptation to answer. Tom’s voice would tip me over the edge and I’d beg him to come back to me, forget what happened and be back in his arms.

I feel pressured to punish him, as though forgiving too easily is a sign of weakness or won’t be enough deterrent. Whether this is an ingrained defence mechanism to protect my heart, or a societal expectation that if your man looks the wrong way at another woman you kick him to the curb and move on – because this is a show of strength – I do not know. Should I listen to the heart that wants him back, or the heart who sobs in fear in the corner at the mere thought of being broken to pieces all over again.

Do I trust him? Do I think he’d do it again if presented with the opportunity? Can I go blindly into the unknown, risking my heart and my sanity? What if he really does sleep around with the crew and I’ve been a total clueless idiot?

Too many questions, not enough answers. I can’t put my foot in the shower and I don’t have a bath, so by the time I’ve sat on the floor in the shower with my foot out the door and had a good cry I’m ready for my own personal pity party.

In bed; because I’m not allowed to dance. With tea; because I’m not allowed to drink.

* * *

I can hear Prue following me as soon as I get to the office, which takes approximately five times as long as usual and results in my second episode of tardiness in as many weeks. I’ve considered dumping the crutches and running for it but that would only land me another lecture so I pretend I don’t know she’s there.

“What the hell? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, and I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Why didn’t you just work from home?”

I sink roughly into my chair with a loud “Oof” and find a box to rest my foot on. The lack of pain over the weekend was almost definitely thanks to the alcohol in my system and now that it’s gone I’m finding it’s actually quite sore. “Because I need to be at the office. I’d go crazy at home.”

“Damn, woman. Sometimes you’re too stubborn for your own good. What happened?”

“I cut my foot when I was out the other night.”

“On what?”

“I don’t know. I woke up the next morning with blood everywhere. We think glass outside the club.”

“How many stitches.”

“The first time or the second?”

“What?!”

“Twelve. The lovely doctor put in an extra two for good measure after they tore open the first time.”

“How?”

“Not important. How was your weekend?”

“Less eventful than yours.”

“I have an idea I’d like to discuss with you in a while.”

“OK. I have a couple of meetings but I’ll come find you- well, you’re not going far are you?” She laughs and I try to join in but I think what comes out is more snarl than smile.

* * *

“What do you think?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Prue says with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “And I think you’ll do a great job. I need a project plan by the end of the week.”

“Thanks, Prue.”

“You’re sure you’re up to this?”

“Yes. I think it could be therapeutic.”

When she’s gone I take out my phone.

> _Becca: Hey you. Guess what?_
> 
> _Nathan: What?_
> 
> _Becca: We’re going to produce a whole issue to raise awareness about pregnancy loss. For James._
> 
> _Nathan: Shit, Bec. I’m crying. That’s amazing._
> 
> _Becca: Me too. You were the first person I wanted to tell after I got the go ahead from Prue. Thanks for calling the other night, it helped._
> 
> _Nathan: I think it helped me, too. You’re welcome._

* * *

Stretching myself out under the sheets, I will my eyes to open. You know those nights when you fall asleep an hour before the alarm goes off, counting down the hours and how much sleep you’ll actually get if you fall asleep right now? I had one of those. Tom will be home later today, and he wants to see me. I can walk on my foot now as long as I’m careful and it’s itching so much I’m ready to rip the stitches out myself.

Poor Dr Gawler would be so disappointed. At least I’d be sober this time.

Tom wants to see me and I still don’t know what to say or what to do. I feel so torn between wanting him and wanting to protect myself. We write articles all the time empowering women to be enough and stand on their own, to not need a man to feel complete. Does that mean it’s wrong for me to feel this hole, like a tiny part of me is missing? Not a part I couldn’t possibly survive without, more like a spleen or an appendix or a gallbladder. I’ll make do without if I have to, but I’d rather not.

And then there’s the other nagging question: how long, how far, what does he have to do to be sorry enough and how much remorse is required? If we’re apart for a month, is that an adequate sentence for kissing another woman? Does he have a right to appeal, demand a retrial based on lack of solid evidence?

_Your honour, may I again present exhibits A and B – the photo and signed confession. You don’t get much better evidence than that._

It’s too much for my tired brain to process, so I do what I do best. I ignore it. I tell Tom I’m too busy with work today and we’ll have to reschedule. Perhaps next month when I’m absolutely sure he’s suffered enough, that he’s demonstrated remorse for his actions, found the lord and been redeemed, and he’ll never ever touch his lips to anyone but me.

I leave that part out.

What I do tell him is the truth, the one I believe, the one that comes from my heart rather than accepted post-cheating etiquette.

_I’m not ready to commit my whole heart to him again, and I don’t know if or when I will be._

If Tom’s soft singing voice is the sweetest sound in the world then his soft muffled crying is the worst. Right then I know this is not about punishing him, or I’d be running over there without another thought. There is no right or wrong amount of remorse, no grand gesture to make it all ok. Faith doesn’t come naturally to me, I’m a see-to-believe kind of girl. I have to believe in Tom, believe in us, and have enough faith to last when he’s not just out of sight but in a different country surrounded by temptation.

“I wish I could just make that happen,” I whisper through trembling lips. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“I did this, not you.” He inhales and I can hear his breath shake. “I’ll be here, when you’re ready. As long as it takes.”

When I hang up I take a few minutes to compose myself in the bathroom, washing the tears away and trying to cover some of the blotches with concealer before I go back to my desk. Rachel has plans with Drew tonight and a work function tomorrow, so we plan to farewell my stitches on Tuesday night with a movie and dinner at home. I’d much prefer a night out, but apparently she can’t face Dr Gawler again and quite frankly neither can I.

* * *

Work has kept me busy for the interim and now that Prue has approved my proposal it’s full steam ahead on the special edition in between my other responsibilities. Rachel wants to hear all about my plans and has a couple of friends who would be happy to talk about their experiences.

Of course it’s only a matter of time and an empty pizza box before the conversation turns to Tom.

“Only you can decide what to do, honey.” She says over a cup of tea. “Can I ask you something without you biting my head off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has he mentioned Nathan?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Tom kissed while you and Nathan were together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I’m not liking where she’s going already.

“And you didn’t tell him. In fact he still doesn’t know anything about Tom at all.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because it would only have hurt him. There was no reason to tell him except to beg for forgiveness and relieve my own guilt.”

“Uh huh.”

She’s staring at me, waiting for me to either recognise what she’s saying or punch her face.

“That was different.”

“How? You could have told him straight up after you and Tom kissed. You felt awful, you told Tom you couldn’t see him again. You knew you’d done the wrong thing. Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt him. What’s your point?” I stifle a smile because I know exactly what her point is, but it isn’t that simple.

“Firstly that you did the same thing. I’m not saying you have to forgive him, but you can probably understand why. And secondly, he hasn’t mentioned it? At all? He could have thrown that back at you, but he didn’t.”

“He didn’t.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because he’s too… Tom. He’s too much of a gentleman and he knows he’s done the wrong thing. Making me a hypocrite won’t make it go away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment to let me know what you think (or both :) )  
> Thanks so much for all the support this has received so far, it's very much appreciated.


	30. Chapter 30

I don’t remember saying goodbye to Rachel, or leaving my apartment. God knows whether I bothered with fixing my hair or changing my clothes from the jeans and tshirt I was lounging in, and I suppose I must have taken a cab across town because it would be quicker.

The whole time between is a blur. Between the moment I realised I wasn’t ready to let go of Tom, but I was ready to let go of my heart, and the moment I knocked on his door.

And waited. I waited impatiently, worrying that he’s not here and I’ve wasted all that energy getting here for nothing. Worrying that I’d lose my nerve before he opened the door. Worrying that he might not open it even if he was home.

There he is, standing in front of me with a half glass of wine in his hand and a blue-grey tshirt tight across his chest. He runs a hand through his hair and looks surprised, leaning on the door as though he doesn’t know whether he’ll let me in.

“Becca. Hi.” He leans in and plants a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Um…”

“I need to talk to you, Tom. Can I come in?”

“Actually-”

“What?” The wine, the shirt, the damp hair, the cologne. He has company. “Bad time?”

“Sort of. You know what, just come in.”

I expect to find a couple of friends, a man or perhaps another couple. So when I see a beautiful woman with long honey hair sitting on Tom’s couch as though she belongs there, with her shoes kicked off under her feet and a matching glass of wine in her hand, my heart doesn’t just skip a beat.

It stops completely. 

Everything stops. 

I’m frozen to the spot and I really want to say something, but I can’t. I just stand there with my mouth open like some sort of giant demented baby bird waiting for a morsel of food. Or a cyanide capsule.

I’m trying to find words but they’re stuck somewhere around my nose on their journey from my brain to my voice box, travelling a loop around my head that makes me dizzy and incoherent.

I rush back out the door, my resolve and the words I wanted to say dissipating before my eyes. I can’t go through that. I can’t deal with that. I feel like humpty dumpty, broken and numb and cracked open with my insides seeping into the street. The perfect moment I imagined has been interrupted and I wonder if it’s for the best, if the universe is trying to tell me I’d made the wrong choice.

I’m running now, tears blurring my vision. I need to be in the safety of my home and I wonder if Rachel might come back over after she pushed me out the door and told me to go talk to Tom. While I pull out my phone I step off the kerb onto the pedestrian crossing, realising too late that I didn’t actually look both ways as I was always taught.

_Look to the left and_

_look to the right_

_before you cross_

_the street._

_Use your ears and_

_use your eyes_

_before you use_

_your feet._

Out of nowhere I’m hit and pushed sideways, sliding across the tarred street on my shoulder, arm and face. When I’m game to open my eyes I push up from the road and see a cyclist doing the same in front of me, his bicycle has come to rest on my legs.

“Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, it was my fault.” I hold up a hand. I must have bitten my tongue because it feels like lead in my mouth and all I taste is blood. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, just scratches.” He stands and pulls me to my feet, a crowd has gathered around us now and we’re quickly moved to the footpath away from passing traffic. A pair of strong arms sit me down on a chair at a nearby cafe and people hover over me, looking over my face and shoulder and holding up my arm.

“Please don’t touch me. I’m fine, I just need to get home.”

A woman crouches in front of me. “You have cuts all over you, sweetheart. You need medical attention.”

“I don’t. I’m fine.”

Ignoring their protests I walk away and get a cab the rest of the way.

It’s only when I walk in the door and look in the bathroom mirror that everything starts to hurt. My temple and cheek both appear to have been shredded by something with enormous claws, with three deep cuts and a multitude of shallow grazes. The blood is just starting to congeal around the wounds but it has fallen to my chin and down to my shirt, soaking the neck, chest and sleeve in deep crimson. When I roll my shoulder it protests painfully as though my arm is being torn from my body.

I’m looking for a clean shirt when I hear the knock on the door and open it expecting to find Rachel. Instead I find Tom, leaning on the door frame with his eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty. He straightens and reaches for my face when he sees me and I flinch back on reflex.

“What the fuck happened to you, Bec? Shit! Are you all right?” He guides me inside and sits me down. “You need stitches.”

“Don’t touch me! You don’t get to touch me!” The salt of my tears stings my cheek and I swipe them away with a bloodied hand.

Tom kneels in front of me, caging me in with his stupid long arms. “Look at me and listen.”

“No,” I frown like a small bad-tempered child.

“Rebecca, listen. That was Emma.”

“You think I care who it was? Maybe giving her a name will give me somewhere to direct my anger, huh? Except I’m not angry with her, I’m angry with you!”

“She’s my sister.”

“I don’t want to hear about-”

For a few seconds I stare at my hands and actually hope I might bleed to death right here. It would be less painful than the current state of embarrassment. I’ve made the proverbial animal of myself by assuming and I don’t know how to get out with my dignity intact.

As if my brain decides there’s no way to make it worse, I start to laugh. Not a joyous happy laugh, but an uncontrolled-crazy-witch cackle. The best I can hope for at this point is that Tom might back away slowly and call the hospital to have me committed. At least I wouldn’t have to face him again.

Tom rubs a large palm over his face and peeks out at me with glistening, but smiling, eyes. “What could possibly be funny?”

“Nothing. Nothing about this is remotely funny.” I say between choked giggles. 

“Bec, what the hell happened? You’re a mess!”

“I’m fine, I collided with a cyclist on the way home. Just let me change my shirt.”

I move to the bedroom and he follows, standing in the doorway. His hands clench into fists as though he can’t bear to be still while I find a clean t-shirt and start to remove the stained one. At the last second I turn my back to Tom and he makes his disappointment known with a loud sigh. I tug my good arm out and under the hem, but I almost let out a scream when I try to raise the other arm. I can see now that the light blue fabric is not only stained but torn and a deep wound is seeping fresh blood underneath.

I hiss sharply through my teeth and he’s right there groaning at the sight of my shoulder. “Darling, you’re going to have to go to the hospital. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“In the kitchen under the sink.”

Tom returns with the box and immediately shifts to first responder mode, sitting me down on the couch.

“Can you lift your arm?”

“Yes,” I lie.

“Show me.”

I manage a few degrees before it won’t go any further and then Tom is coming at me with scissors.

“What are you doing?” I screech.

“Sweetheart, I have to get the shirt off. It’s already torn, I just have to cut the neck. If I don’t do it the hospital will.”

“I thought you were going to patch me up.” I pout and he runs a gentle finger over my lip.

“I’m not a doctor. You need stitches. I just thought you might like to get out of that shirt and into something more comfortable.”

I nod and cringe as he starts cutting into the neck of my shirt and then down and across until it falls to the floor.

“I’ve often wanted to rip your clothes off, but this isn’t what I had in mind.” He chuckles while he searches the kit for a gauze pad to stop the blood which is now trickling down to my bra. “You really should have more than one of these, you know.” He says, holding it up. Another humourless chuckle escapes my lips when I remember why there’s only one left. “This is going to hurt.” He presses it hard into me until I’m gritting my teeth and then replaces his hand with mine. “I know it hurts, but keep pressure on it. Push hard.”

My teeth break the skin on my lip as I squeeze it against my skin and he ties a sling before standing me up and walking me to the bedroom to sit on the bed.

“There’s a dress in my wardrobe, it’s black and has thin adjustable straps. That one,” I point as he flicks through coat hangers and finds a long cotton dress. “Could you, um… undo my bra?”

“With pleasure,” he winks and I almost manage a smile. Once it’s off my shoulders and he’s removed my jeans and found more grazes, he slips the dress over my head and finds me some flip flops before putting the sling gently over my arm to keep my shoulder still.

“Thank you, Tom. For looking after me. If you could just drop me off at the hospital I’ll-”

“No way in hell will I just drop you at the hospital. Are you mad?”

“I’ll just get stitched up and come home.”

“Well then I’ll stay while you get stitched up and take you home.”

There’s no further argument left in me, I just nod and let him take me to the car. And pray to whoever might listen that the lovely Dr Gawler isn’t on duty this evening.

I hate hospitals. Have I said that already?

This must be the busiest night of the year, or else I’ve been lucky the last couple of times. When the triage nurse saw Tom she was kind enough to escort us immediately to one of their isolation rooms where we could wait as long as it wasn’t needed for an infectious patient, and I am forever indebted to that woman. The packed waiting room would have had us not only outed in a few minutes, but probably accompanied by accusations that he’d beaten me up.

Finally the door opens and I look down at the floor. Part of me knows that fate will make sure it’s the same paternal-natured doctor but I can’t face him.

“Rebecca. I’d love to say it’s good to see you again.”

“Dr Gawler,” I nod, pleading him not to say anymore about seeing me before.

“Cyclist collision this time, hm?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“At least I won’t need to give you another tetanus shot. How’s your foot?”

“It’s fine, thanks. Fully healed.”

“That’s something.”

Tom is looking from one of us to the other as though he’s watching Andy Murray being slaughtered at Wimbledon, his mouth gaping with unasked questions.

Dr Gawler leaves me in no doubt that I’ll be going home with a good measure of needlework, but he wants a scan on my shoulder first.

So we wait. And then we wait a bit longer.

The painkillers make me sleepy and I’m in an endless cycle of dozing off only to startle awake until Tom’s stroking fingers put me back to sleep. After a few hours I sit up painfully on the bed and take his hand.

“I need to tell you what I came over to tell you.”

“We don’t need to do this now, do we? Get some rest.”

I shake my head. “You could have thrown the whole Nathan situation back at me. You could have thrown my own words in my face. You could have lied and said you always intended on telling me. The fact that you didn’t tells me you made a mistake, you were trying to protect me, and you’re worthy of my trust. I know we went into this much faster than we should have, and much faster than I said I wanted to, but that isn’t your fault. Feelings can’t be helped and love can’t be held back. So, even though it’s raw and still a little scarred, I’m giving you my heart. Completely, unconditionally, and without reservation. Break it, smash it to smithereens if you choose to. I’m all in.”

“Your heart is far more than I deserve, Rebecca.” He looks at me with moisture in his eyes and kisses my knuckles. “I will cherish it, nurture it, and keep it safe. My promise to you is that I will never again abuse your trust, in any way. I can not stand the thought of hurting you, and I am in awe of your capacity for forgiveness.”

“I love you. I’m sorry I doubted you. And I’m sorry for my reaction this evening.”

“I’m sorry I gave you reason to.” He strokes my unharmed cheek with gentle fingertips and kisses me with soft lips. I wish I could kiss him properly, hold him, lie with him, make love to him instead of being stuck on a hospital bed because of my own carelessness and tears of self pity stream down my face. “I love you, Bec.” Tom pulls me close and when the doctor opens the door I wonder how long I was asleep on his shoulder. Either way my eyes are still blurred and my face still wet.

“Rebecca. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m here to dose you up on painkillers and take you to your CT scan, and then we’ll get you stitched up.”

“Sounds good to me.” I slur.

When I’m wheeled back to the room I’m quite impressed with Tom’s lack of queasiness – he watches every pass of the needle through the edges of my skin with utter fascination as I’m painstakingly put back together. A plastic surgeon has been called upon to suture my wounds to lessen the scars, although he chides me for not coming straight to the hospital and makes me swear to get an ambulance immediately if I’m ever in a fight with the pavement again.

According to Tom’s count I have 45 stitches between the three gashes on my face and one on my shoulder, and just as the surgeon is leaving Dr Gawler returns.

“You have an incomplete rotator cuff tear.” He says as though I should know what the hell that means. I’m so high on painkillers at this point he might have said ‘you have a broken fingernail’ and I would need further explanation.

“What does that mean?” Tom asks for me.

“One of the tendons in your shoulder has torn, which is why you can’t lift your arm. You’ll be in a sling for a few weeks and you’ll need some physical therapy but it should heal without further intervention if you follow my instructions.” He hands Tom a sheet of paper, which he reads and nods in agreement with every point. “Otherwise, you need to see your GP in seven days to have the stitches removed. Keep them clean and dry until then, you can remove and change the dressings in three days and clean the area gently. If you have any problems, come back or see your doctor. Do you have any questions?”

I shake my head slowly for fear I might fall off the bed with any sudden movement.

“Rebecca, I truly hope I never see you again.” He smiles openly and shakes my hand.

“Thanks, doctor. Likewise.”

Once I am completely immobilised and feeling like a thorough tit Tom drives me home and puts me to bed. He lies behind me and holds an ice pack against the joint as instructed by the doctor and I drop into a fitful, drug-induced sleep.

* * *

When I wake and still feel the chill of the compress on my shoulder my first thought is that I haven’t really slept yet, but I can see dim light when I open my eyes, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. After that my mind immediately goes to drugs. More of them, and what I have to do to get them. My shoulder throbs, and when I shift in bed or turn my head there might well be a screwdriver being driven through the joint. The dull ache in my face is only fired up when I make the mistake of feeling around the swelling with my fingertips, and I’m fairly sure I have a shiny black eye.

Footsteps draw my attention to the doorway and I wince when I try to see who’s there. “You’re awake, sweetheart. I thought you’d sleep a little longer yet. How are you feeling?”

I manage a muffled groan and he helps me to sit up before putting two painkillers in my hand and holding out a glass of water.

“Ta.” My mouth is stuffed with cotton wool and my tongue made of concrete. There are so many thanks I want to say, so many ‘I love you’s and ‘please hold me’s, but my lips can’t form the words. And then the beautiful, thoughtful, wonderful man who loves me and has vowed to take care of me brings me a mug of sweetened earl grey with just a tiny dribble of milk, and my eyes attempt to speak with tears what my voice can not. I drink it while he holds me with my good side against him, whispering in my ear that he’s called Prue and Rachel and he’ll stay as long as I need him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your kudos and comments mean so much to me, thank you to each and every one of you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	31. Chapter 31

Prue insists I stay at home until Monday, and although I have some nasty bruises on my face I’m itching to get out of the house by the weekend. Some movement is returning to my shoulder and it’s a little less painful. Despite my best efforts Tom insists on treating me gently and refuses to do anything with the potential to further injure me.

I’ve wandered the house in nothing but his shirt and a sling. I’ve wandered the house in nothing but underwear and a sling, and then nothing but the sling.

I’ve begged. I’ve kissed him for all I’m worth, and I’ve not-so-subtly bent myself over the kitchen bench. I even ambushed him in the shower, where he promptly chided me for moving my arm around too much and left me there alone.

On Tuesday afternoon the physiotherapist tells me I can have short periods without the sling and gives me some gentle exercises to do now that it’s starting to feel better. He applies so much tape I feel like a broken toy that’s only held together with masking tape, but it immediately feels less painful and more stable.

I’m bubbling with excitement when Tom picks me up, and my situation is approaching desperate. Jumping him while he’s driving isn’t the best option so I force myself to wait until after dinner.

With minimal struggle I get out of my clothes and slip on a sheer negligee that for all it covers might as well be non-existent. Tom is on the couch reading a book and I move in front of him with slow steps until finally he looks up, his eyes widening in surprise before frowning in suspicion.

“Bec, what are you doing?”

“Just getting ready for bed. I was hoping for some cuddles on the couch first?”

He puts the book down next to him and sighs, and I straddle him while his guard is down, catching his mouth with a hungry kiss and grinding my hips over his. I can feel his erection bulging in his jeans before I’ve released his lips.

I tilt my head and hide a wince at the sharp pain it causes while kissing down his neck.

“Rebecca,” he warns. “I’m not doing this. Not until…”

“Until what? The stitches come out tomorrow. My shoulder is getting better, the physio even said I can go without the sling for a bit.” I roll my hips against him and put my hands under his shirt, but he grips my wrist with firm fingers.

“No, Bec.”

“Tom. Fuck me. Make love to me. Hard, slow, fast, gentle, from behind or in front or upside down underwater I don’t fucking care. Please.”

Tom’s hands hold my hips still and lift me until I’m standing, and when I look down at his face he shakes his head. I go quickly to the bedroom and slam the door as hot tears well in my eyes and spill onto my cheeks. Frustration and anger make the blood race through my veins and my heart pound in my ears while I rip the negligee over my head to put on something more sensible. A strangled howl of pain and anguish tears from my throat when I lift my arm too forcefully and I toss a pillow at the closed door in rage, loudly cursing my own stupidity. In a t-shirt and panties I sit in bed and read for just over an hour, my ears straining to hear what Tom is doing.

Eventually I give up and lie down in the dark, still listening intently for any sign of activity on the other side of the door. I’m beginning to wonder if he went out.

When the handle clicks open I jam my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep while I feel him slide into the bed next to me. His movements are smooth and small, he’s trying not to alert me to his presence. I wait for him to snuggle in behind me, rest his hand between my waist and hip where it fits perfectly like a missing puzzle piece.

He doesn’t. I can’t feel his breath on my skin; he’s either on his back or turned away from me. Whatever has brought on this change of heart, the sudden aversion to my body and it’s minor damage, I will not give him the satisfaction of giving in first, and I will not roll over.

Even if I could.

“Am I ugly? Is that it? You’re turned off by my less than perfect face now? Because it was far from perfect before, and if all it takes is a couple of scars and you don’t love me anymore-”

“Oh my god! Would you just shut up?”

I sit up and toss the blankets off.

“You did not just tell me to shut up in my own bed.”

“How dare you think I don’t love you anymore because I don’t want to have sex?”

“Why do you not want to have sex?”

“Can’t I just not feel like it?”

“You could, theoretically, but then that erection wouldn’t have happened. At least your cock still finds me attractive.”

“You’re as beautiful as the day I laid eyes on you. As beautiful as the day I saw you again, when I thought I’d never see you again. I just don’t want to hurt your shoulder.”

“Then don’t hurt my shoulder! My vagina is nowhere near my shoulder!”

“No, but what if I get carried away-”

“Please, for the love of god, get carried away. Don’t be sorry, don’t be respectful, don’t be gentle, just shut up and fuck me.”

The fire in his eyes burns hotter, the outrage igniting something else, something I’ve not seen before.

“That’s the thanks I get for taking care of you? After you ran away to another country instead of facing the hurdles together, came back to see me and then ran away again before I could explain? Got yourself all beaten up out of your own stubborn carelessness? I’ve put everything on hold for a week to make sure you’re looked after, and you’re angry with me because for once I don’t feel like sex.”

“The hurdle that you put up when you kissed another woman? You want to bring that up now?”

“Yes!”

“Fine! Maybe what she says is true, you could have slept with any number of women and I’d never know. You took advantage of my trust and you weren’t even going to tell me.”

“And what, you just thought you’d call me one day and say you’d had a baby? How long were you going to wait?”

His eyes widen, knowing he might have just gone too far. My brain is only just catching up and realising what’s happening.

“That’s not fair.” I move over and straddle him and he grips my hips, this time moving me over him instead of stopping me. “If I’d known I’d never have kissed you. You knew. You pushed me, you rushed me, and then you cheated on me!”

“I pushed you? You practically begged me to have sex with you before you were ready!” I can feel his erection straining against me, pressing into my panties and making me swell and soak the thin fabric.

“I didn’t ask you to swoop in and take care of me. I am not a damsel in distress and I do not need rescuing!”

Tom’s hands grip the hem of my shirt and without hesitation he tears it  right up the middle, his hands cupping my heavy breasts, he licks his lips and his mouth falls open as I grind down on his pelvis and peel the torn fabric from my shoulders.

“Evidently you do, you’re too fucking stubborn for your own good! Didn’t anyone ever tell you to look both ways before you cross the road?”

I lean down over him and tug his hair gently, my mouth hovering a millimetre from his. “Shut up, Thomas.”

His mouth sets in a thin line, jaw squared and teeth clenched, for a moment I think he’s going to spit at me. “What did you say?”

“Shut. Up.”

In one movement he flips us both over and I’m far too high on adrenaline to feel any pain at this point. “You do not get to speak to me like that.”

“Or what?”

Tom leans in close to my ear and bites the lobe hard enough that I hiss. I can hear his moist mouth as it opens and feel his lips brush the sensitive skin behind my ear as he speaks.

“Or I’ll give you exactly what you asked for. I’ll fuck you, Rebecca. Without respect, remorse, or care. Is that what you want?”

Apparently it is.

“Shut up and fuck me.” I rasp.

Tom growls in my ear, an unrestrained sound of complete abandon. His lips move down my body, biting my flesh hard with his teeth where he’d leave sweet wet kisses on any other occasion. When he gets to my panties he wraps the waistband in his fist, tears them off and tosses them aside while he sucks on my inner thigh. As his teeth dig in I begin to squirm, feeling the blood sucked to the surface inside his mouth, his jaw and rough hands holding my lower body still until I cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

Moving back up my body his mouth now latches onto a nipple while three fingers are pushed inside me. Invading my warm moist centre like thieves searching for forgotten gold in a mine shaft they burrow and dig until they find the motherlode, that orgasmic soft hollow that drives me to the brink.

My breath turns to panting and I can feel sweet release, angling my hips and pleading silently for just another second. He withdraws and rubs my juices up over my throbbing bud, down to my ass and back up in a torturous slow movement.

“Tom, please,” I moan. He lets out a low chuckle without a hint of humour.

“Oh no, darling. You wanted merciless, and that’s what you shall have.” He takes his cock in hand, dipping his fingers into me again and coating his shaft in my juices. His long fingers close around the veined pink delicacy and I lick my suddenly dry lips as he starts to stroke his firm hand from base to glorious purple tip and back again.

Tom’s eyes never leave mine, daring me to touch myself. The muscles clench and twitch along his square jaw and the occasional sigh escapes his open lips. My hand moves to my breast, grazing over my nipple and down over my stomach. He watches intently while I part my folds, gasps when I circle my finger around my clit and moans along with me when I dip my fingers inside.

To his credit Tom’s resolve doesn’t break until I trail those fingers back up my body, dragging over a pointed nipple before I take them into my mouth and suck. His fingers dig into my hips as he tilts them to take the pressure off my left side, straightening one leg against his torso and straddling the other before he enters me and fills me to the hilt in one hard thrust that knocks the air from my lungs.

A large hand grips my calf, pressing my leg back as he drives in and out forcing moans from my throat and sweat from every pore of my flushed skin. A low groan rumbles deep in Tom’s chest and his other hand weaves down my front, finding its way to my swollen clit and rubbing it with the pad of his thumb.

I brace myself with one arm on the headboard, pushing back against his jolting thrusts. Tom hisses through clenched teeth and bears down on me, every push of his hips forcing my walls to stretch around him as he moves deeper, and finally with an emphatic cry I come undone and my body quivers with release.

Seconds later Tom spills into me with a savage grunt and barely stills before he lies down next to me gasping for breath. “Well that was-”

“Unexpected.”

“Hot.”

We both laugh and he pulls me against him, his palm resting on that spot that was made for his hand while he kisses my neck gently. “You know I didn’t mean any of that, right?”

“Tom?”

“Mm?”

“For once in your life don’t apologise.”

“But I need you-”

“Tom!”

“What?”

“Shut up.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, guys. I've been swamped and am about to release an original novel (see the end of the chapter for details if you're interested).

When the table is set for breakfast I shower and get dressed for work, timing it perfectly so that Tom is just coming in from his run when I boil the kettle.  
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he nuzzles my neck.  
“Good morning. Breakfast?”  
“Mmm. Yes please.”  
“Muesli is on the table.”  
“Damn.”  
“You can’t go from being afraid to break me to breakfast sex in a matter of hours, Thomas. It’s impolite or something.”  
“Tomorrow, then?”  
“Play your cards right and we’ll see.”  
When I’m sipping my tea I look over at him, smiling at his disheveled hair.  
“Hey, what was that doctor talking about when he said he’d seen you before?”  
“Oh, uh… nothing.”  
“Rebecca.”  
Tom has this thing where he tilts his head forward and looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows and I swear he should be an interrogator when he does it. Secrets just fall out of my mouth unhindered.  
“I had a couple of big nights with Rachel. On one of them I cut my foot on something and he had to stitch me up the next morning. That night I split it open again and he had to fix it. Like I said, nothing.”  
“How bad? What did you cut it on?”  
I lift my foot into his lap so he can inspect the raised purple scar along the sole. “I honestly don’t know. I woke up the next morning covered in blood.”  
“How fucking drunk were you?” I can see him starting to seethe behind his clouded eyes and I hastily take my foot back.  
“I don’t know, the usual?”  
“Where?”  
“King Street. What’s the problem?”  
“You can’t just do that, you know? Go out and get so drunk you almost bleed to death and don’t notice. Especially now that people are going to know about us.”  
“It wasn’t a problem at the time. And you’re exaggerating, I cut my foot not my fucking jugular.”  
“Promise me you won’t do it again.”  
“Er… no.”  
“Rebecca, promise me.”  
“No. You don’t get to control me. And for the record I was only drowning my sorrows because of you. Both nights.”  
“How did you split it open?”  
“Dancing. In the privacy of my own loungeroom.”  
“Fuck. When are you going to learn to take care of yourself?”  
“I can take care of myself, I’ve done just fine so far. It was a cut, nothing more. If I want to go out drinking, I will. I didn’t humiliate or embarrass myself and I behaved appropriately. My only mistake was removing my shoes.”  
“You know how this works. You know people everywhere will be waiting for you to do something stupid.”  
“I have to go to work. I’ll try not to anything stupid between here and there. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your precious reputation.”  
“Becca, come on.”  
“No. If you don’t think I’m worth the hassle, or I’m a risk to your image or whatever, then you know where the door is.”  
I sling my bag over my good shoulder and grab my keys.  
“Bec, wait.”  
The door is closed before he can say any more, and I’m still fuming when I get to work. First up I have a meeting with one of Rachel’s friends who has been through two early miscarriages and is keen to tell her story. Two cups of tea, a cupcake and half a box of tissues later she’s bidding me farewell and I think we’ve started a lasting friendship. I’m so inspired and excited about starting this project that aside from the knot in my stomach I’ve forgotten about my argument with Tom until I find him waiting in my office.  
As soon as I enter and close the door he stands and hands me my phone. “You left this at home, I thought you might need it. I’m not staying.”  
His hand is already on the door handle. “Tom, wait. Please sit down.”  
“I think I should just go.”  
“I’m sorry I left like that this morning.”  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
“Please sit down.” It’s only then I notice he’s brought me a coffee, he obviously didn’t just come to jab my phone into my hand and leave in a huff. “What’s wrong?”  
“What’s wrong?! Where do I begin?” He throws his arms out to the sides and lets them fall with a slap to his thighs.  
“Can we please just talk? I’m sorry for my behaviour this morning. I know it’s important to you that I’m not out making an idiot of myself every weekend if you’re going to be associated with me, and I’m not. I won’t.”  
“I know.”  
“You can’t expect me to start behaving differently just because we’re together. I’m not going to stop going out, I’m not going to give up my life.”  
“I don’t expect you to.” He sighs and rubs his jaw.  
“I will be mindful of what I do in public, though. Deal?”  
“Yep.” His lips remain tightly pressed together and his eyes are on his fidgeting hands.  
“Could you look at me, please? What’s going on?”  
“Nothing. I was out of line and being too controlling this morning, and I’m sorry. I just came to return your phone.”  
“And bring me coffee so you could leave.”  
“Yes, well…”  
“Well what?”  
He stands up and runs a hand through his hair, pacing my office. No mean feat when it’s so small he only makes one stride each way with his long legs.  
“Your phone was ringing while I was waiting for you. You have a couple of missed calls and text messages. I wasn’t looking, the bloody thing was flashing right in front of my face.”  
“So?”  
He stops pacing and gives me that interrogation look again.  
“Have you been talking to Nathan this whole time?”  
“I… no. Just recently.”  
“Just while we were apart, you immediately go back to him for comfort.”  
“Oh my god. You can’t be serious, he’s on the other side of the world. Going back to him for comfort is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”  
“He’s your only ex, Bec. You were carrying his child. The second I make a mistake you’re talking to him again.”  
“It’s not like that!” I take a trembling breath and lower my voice. “Can we talk about this tonight?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“No. No. You can’t really be thinking we’re over because I talked to him. Don’t do this.”  
“Were you going to tell me?”  
“I didn’t think it was worth telling to be honest. But I wasn’t trying to hide it. Please don’t be angry, there are things that he understands that no one else does, that’s all. I’ll come over after I see the doctor this evening and we’ll talk, ok? Obviously we have some issues to work out.”  
“You think?”  
“Sarcasm isn’t pretty on you, Tom. I’ll see you after work. I have someone coming to see me in ten minutes and I’m flat out. I’m sorry.”  
I reach out and take his hand and he gives me a tight smile before he pulls it away. “I’ll pick you up at five.” He kisses my cheek, his stubble scratching against my skin.  
He leaves and I collapse into my chair completely bewildered as to what’s happening between us. Fortunately I’m so booked up I don’t have time to obsess over it and when he picks me up outside at 5pm I feel like he only just left. He’s silent while we wait for the doctor to check me over and remove all 47 stitches (math really isn’t Tom’s strong point), giving me a soft hand to squeeze if I need it. The car ride is mercifully short and when we’re inside he immediately pours me a glass of wine and we sit on the couch.  
It doesn’t escape my notice that he leaves quite a gap between us, or that he just waits for me to give him an explanation.  
“Nathan called me. It was actually the morning I woke up after cutting my foot. He called me because he’d been thinking of me after Mothers’ Day and wondered how I was coping.” I look over to Tom for a reaction and find his eyes on mine, they’re soft and grey; he almost looks defeated.  
“Did you tell him about us?”  
“No, only because we were sort of in limbo and it didn’t come up. We were talking about James, and Abby and Lauren.”  
“You’ve lost me.”  
“I know. There’s a lot you missed out on. I’ll get to that. I was telling him about the bump and how it reminds me of all the negative, how my body failed James. He understands, Tom. We lost a child together.”  
“And you’ll always have something I don’t.”  
You know the expression about seeing red when you’re angry? I always thought it was just a metaphor. Turns out, if you’re blindsided and angry enough you actually literally see red. I’m so stunned by his words I take a step back and everything turns crimson for a split second.  
“You do not get to make this about you! I’m sorry if you feel left out, but you don’t.” I breathe out and calm myself before I go on while Tom waits in silence. I can see in his fidgeting hands and furrowed brow that he wishes he could retract his words. “Since then we’ve been talking a little bit because we’re doing an edition of Lion and Lace dedicated to James and raising awareness of pregnancy loss. People don’t talk about it, it’s hidden behind closed doors and when things like Mothers’ day come around we’re not acknowledged. So yes, we’ve been talking about our experiences and we’ll be having coffee when I go back to Australia in a few weeks.”  
Tom stands up and starts pacing my small loungeroom, which quite frankly isn’t much bigger than my office, making his steps so short it’s comical. When he stops in front of me his intense stare burns into me and his hands clench into fists.  
“You’re going back?”  
“For a visit, yes. I haven’t booked a flight yet but it will be sometime in August. Half work, half family visit.”  
“You didn’t feel it was important to mention this?”  
“I… you…” Tears are stinging the back of my eyes and I jam them shut, trying to stop my voice from shaking and stuttering. “There’s so much… too much to just spill out all at once and I wasn’t ready. That night when I found you with Emma and I thought- and then the accident and- I just wanted to get us back to where we were first. That’s all. I wasn’t keeping anything from you, I was just waiting for the right time.”  
It takes all my self control to keep from spitting back at him that he wasn’t going to tell me about his little slip up at all, but somehow I manage.  
“Bec, I love you. Why can’t you just tell me?”  
“Because you don’t get it! It’s not that I don’t want you to know, it’s just so exhausting to talk about!”  
“I’m never going to get it if you don’t tell me.”  
“Fine.” I down the rest of my glass. “Firstly, my family are emotionally stunted and incapable of meaningful conversation. Rather than face the possibility of me getting emotional over Christmas, they all conspired behind my back and kept the news that my sister-in-law is pregnant a secret. They all knew, but they can’t hurt my precious feelings. I found out a couple of weeks ago, she’s due in July. I’m at once deliriously happy for them and torn apart inside because they’re going to have a healthy baby. It hurts, Tom. It’s like someone taking a pick axe to my insides. Not because I miss Nathan or what we had, but because James was my child. He was my baby boy and I held his tiny lifeless body in my hands, and then I gave him over to be cremated. So when my ex calls because he’s thought of me on Mothers’ day I don’t consider it a dishonest act to talk to him and be comforted by him. Nathan gets it, his sister is pregnant too and it hurts him just the same.”  
Tom has sat down next to me and when the tears start to fall he tries to pull me against his chest but I push him away. “You wanted all of it, you’re getting it. If I start crying I won’t stop.” He sighs but nods and pulls away, handing me a tissue instead.  
“I’m going back to meet Sam and Abby’s baby and do some interviews for work. It’s going to be distressing and ugly and beautiful all at the same time, and I’m going to be a fucking mess. But I have to do it, he’s my brother. I want to do it because I could do with a reminder that not everything ends in disaster, some people get their happy ending without it all turning to shit.” I pause to wipe hurriedly at my nose.  
“I’m not in love with Nathan any more, but I will always love him, yes. There will always be a place in my heart for the man who was my first love and who was there for a huge part of my life. One day when I’m ready to have children and find out I can’t I’ll probably still turn to him for comfort but that doesn’t mean he’s your competition. He’s my past, not my future. If you pull your head out of your ass you could be my future, but if you ever force me into something like this before I’m ready again that won’t happen.”  
The evening air has cooled and I fold my arms tight across my chest as I move out to the deck, closing the door softly behind me. Tom appears frozen to the spot, whether from my icy words or his own guilt I don’t know. My knuckles turn white as I grip the railing, squeezing my eyes shut to keep from breaking down. My legs are starting to quiver with the effort a few minutes later when I hear the door open and close behind me and feel Tom’s warm body against my back, his arms wrapping around my waist.  
Tom’s warm breath sighs against my neck and his stubble scratches my skin. “I am so sorry, darling. I wish I could take it all away.”  
“Please don’t, Tom. I’m not angry, just… don’t. ”  
After a few seconds he holds my hips and turns me to face him. At first I resist, I know he wants to hold me and I know if he does I’ll dissolve. Without much fight from me he succeeds, and only then I notice he’s brought a blanket to wrap around my chilled body while he holds me against his chest.  
Before I open my eyes I am surrounded by Tom; his arms are around me, his hands spread to hold me as tight as possible; his scent fills my head, that short-circuiting scent that makes everything else fade away; his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek and his heart beats steadily in my ear. I groan when my eyes move, like the sockets are made of sandpaper. My nose is blocked and my face is swollen like I’ve gone a few rounds in the ring. With a wet, salty fish judging by the taste on my lips.  
God knows how I look, but it can’t be pretty. I know better than to try to extract myself from Tom’s clutches, he’s got such a tight hold that I can feel all ten fingertips through my t-shirt. Pallid grey light is struggling to illuminate his bedroom but I can hear enough people and cars passing to know the city outside is awake.  
My fingers brush the hairs on Tom’s chest and I nuzzle back into his warmth.  
“Hey beautiful,” he rumbles.  
“Good morning.”  
“Bec, I-”  
I put a fingertip to his lips and push up onto my elbows. “Can we just forget about it? You know everything now, can we just move on?”  
Tom sighs and lays back, putting a hand behind his head. Finally he looks at me, his red-ringed blue eyes still touched with sadness.  
“I don’t know. Do you know we’ve hardly talked in the last week, about anything meaningful?”  
“What do you call last-”  
“Except for last night,” he interjects with a tight smile. “I’m not sure we can consider that a conversation, darling. You spouted everything out at me and then shut down again.”  
“What do you want to talk about?”  
The wall is going up, I’ve switched to defensive mode. I’m fighting it with everything I have, but I don’t know if I’m going to win.  
“You never let me explain about Marissa.”  
Oh dear gods, mentioning her name is not a good way to keep me in your bed, Hiddleston.  
“Did you fuck her?”  
“No! Of course not!”  
“Have you before? Her or any other crew member?”  
“Crew? No. Bec-”  
“Cast?”  
“Yes. Only once, we had a short relationship. Casual sex, no. But-”  
“I don’t need to know any more.”  
“You don’t wonder why she said all of those things?”  
“Just stop me if I’m wrong. You kissed, for whatever reason. Just once?” He nods. “She was pissed that you didn’t want more. Sound about right?”  
“Yes, actually.”  
“I won’t forgive you twice.”  
“Either would I.”  
“When I came over that night, it was something Rachel asked me. She wanted to know if at any time you’d brought up me cheating on Nathan, or not telling you I was pregnant. You didn’t, you’re better than that. That told me you were prepared to wait, you weren’t interested in pressuring me to make a decision so you could move on. I was all emotionally charged and when I saw Emma I just felt so stupid, like I’d been blind all along. You’re surrounded by beautiful women, why wouldn’t you take advantage of that and who am I to hold you back from doing what or who you want.”  
“The only one I want in this world is you, Bec.”  
“Well I know that now. Anyway, when I talked to you in the hospital – I did, right? I was a little bit high at the time.” He nods and laughs. “I just wanted that to be the end of it. Bury it and not talk about it again.”  
“That’s how you deal with everything, isn’t it. You bury it. Close the lid on that little container and put it away for later.”  
I shrug and push the defensive wall down a little harder. “It works for me.”  
“It works until it doesn’t. Until you explode like last night and then turn into a catatonic mess.”  
“Because you forced my hand. If you let me deal with it in my own time, that doesn’t happen.”  
“I’m not sure that’s the way to mental stability, but ok.”  
“Tom-”  
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” His fingers brush over my shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to- you’re right. I don’t understand, and it’s ok. I tend to forget how little time I’ve known you.” He scratches the stubble on his jaw. “I think… I was under the impression you came back almost unscathed, you seemed so settled. I didn’t understand how traumatic it must have been. And then we said we wouldn’t rush, but here we are only a few months later. That’s my fault, darling. I did rush you. I do rush you.”  
“Come with me to Sydney.” That was definitely my voice, but those were not the words I was thinking.  
“What now?” His head snaps up and his wide eyes are on mine.  
“Um… if you want to I mean. You could come with me. Meet my family?”  
“Is that what you want?”  
I don’t know. Is it?  
“If you want to, yes. If you don’t, if it’s too soon…”  
“I’ll see what my schedule is like when you choose a flight. If I can make it I’d like to.”  
“I’ll decide later today, I need to call Abby and see how she’s doing, when they’ll be there.”  
“Ok. You should have the day off today, spend it here with me.” He nuzzles into my neck until goosebumps cover my body.  
“I can’t,” I groan. “I have another interview this morning.”  
He releases me and I get up to shower, rubbing my aching shoulder. I smirk when I hear him open the door and then the shower screen.  
“Mind if I join you? I have an important something or other this morning.”  
“I’ll bet you do.”  
“I’m nothing if not efficient, love,” he kisses my neck and kneads a breast with his gentle hand. “Saving water and time.”  
“Mm hm,” I gasp when he runs a finger between my folds.  
“You can’t deny having the same idea. Your moist heat gives you away.”  
He slips a finger easily inside while I stroke his erection, the blood thumping beneath my fingers. His tongue glides into my mouth, licking my lips until I moan into him.  
“Turn around and face the wall,” he whispers. “Put your good arm up against the wall and the lame one out of the way.”  
I turn my head around to look at him. “Did you just say ‘lame’? I’m not a fucking race horse, Tom! And it’s not lame!”  
“Put it between your legs, then.” He winks and kicks my feet apart, surprisingly I can reach that far now without more than mild discomfort. Without warning he’s pushing into me, sliding against my wet skin with slow strokes and breathing heavily on my neck. With the raging emotions still heavy from last night, this isn’t our usual loved-up coupling, it’s pure carnal need for release. He wraps one arm around my hips to keep me steady while the other entwines with mine on the cool tiles.  
Tom’s breath quickens in my ear and his thrusts are hard and fast, slapping and splashing against my ass. My fingers flick at my bud until I’m on the brink and his moan tips me into a shuddering orgasm right before I feel him spurt inside.  
Tom steps back and spins me around to kiss my mouth before he lathers his hands with soap and guides me under the water. When I leave him in the shower his face is flushed pink and his eyes bright, I can’t help but kiss him slowly under the stream of water before I step out.   
“I love you,” he says, his lips brushing mine. “And I’m sorry.”  
“I love you too. I know I’m a lot to deal with, Tom. You’re going to have to give me time to process it all before I can let you comfort me.”  
“I’ll try. And I’d love to come to Australia with you if we can manage it. You have to tell me if you change your mind, though.”  
“I’ll talk to Abby later today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please remember to leave kudos or consider a comment to let me know what you think!
> 
> If you're interested in downloading a free pre-release copy of my debut novel, head over to http://elsagrainger.com/2016/04/10/giveaway/ and it's all yours. No strings. No emails from me, and I promise your information is secure, it's only for validation. I WILL NOT EMAIL YOU! Perhaps a follow on Facebook or Twitter if you like, spread the word, but there's no pressure. 


	33. Chapter 33

Abby answers the phone with a yawn rather than a hello.

“Shit. Did I wake you?”

“Technically yes. But it’s ok, Becca. All I’m capable of is sleep, it wouldn’t matter what time you called.”

“How’s it going?”

“Great. Aside from being the size of a house, but bub is doing well and growing-” she cuts off. “Are you ok hearing this?”

“Yes, I want every detail. Actually I was calling to see when you’ll be in Sydney so I can come and visit.”

“We’re heading over next week and staying with mum until after bub is born. I couldn’t do this without my family so we’ve decided to have the birth in Sydney. Well, try to.”

I have to laugh at the thought of Abby giving birth in the airport. Or worse, on the plane.

“OK. I think I’ll head over at the end of July, then.”

“Are you going to stay with your mum and Coby?”

“Nah, we’ll probably get a hotel or an apartment.”  
“We?”

_Shit. Motherfucker god damnit._

“Becca? We?”

“Me. I said me.”

“Me probably get a hotel? Ok cookie monster. Sure. You’re bringing someone, someone who will share a hotel room. Who is it?”

“No one. I’m not even sure yet, he’s working it out today.”

“He’s not no one if he’s thinking about it.”

“Alright, there is a man, yes. And he might come with me. I’ll have to wait and see.”

“Is he British?”

I laugh so hard I snort a little. “As British as they come.”

Abby squeals down the phone. “I can’t wait to meet him!”

“We’ll see, Ab. Get some rest.”

* * *

“I think a change of scenery is going to be amazing for us. I know you’ll be working, but I was hoping we might get a weekend to slip away together?”

“We can probably manage that,” I smile at the thought and carry on packing. “I know the last few weeks have been a bit… I’ve been a bit difficult.”

I am nothing if not the queen of understatement. Difficult is but one word we could use and it’s the nicest one I can think of. Since Tom arranged to come to Australia a few weeks ago I’ve been second guessing it and wondering if it’s the greatest idea. We’ve kept our relationship pretty well under wraps for so long, it’s going to be more difficult once my family and friends know.

“You have been a bit distant. Are you sure you want me to come?”

“Yes, of course I do.” He stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, pressing down until they relax.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“People are going to know. I’m going to be introducing you to my family.”

“You’re one step closer than I am.”

“If you even mention that again-”

“I won’t.” He puts his palms up in surrender. “It’s a big step, I understand. If you’re not ready you don’t have to.”

“I guess I thought when we decided this we’d be in a different place. I thought…”

“You thought we’d go back to living in each other’s pockets. That once you’d opened up and dumped everything out you’d be completely available to me?”

“Yeah.”

“And instead you’ve shut down.”

“Tom-”

“I’m not attacking you, Bec. I think it’s a fair assessment of the situation. You’re more closed off than ever, I have no idea what’s going on with you.” Tom steps forward and puts a hand on my waist, guiding my eyes up to his with a finger under my chin. “Talk to me.”

The thing is, he doesn’t understand. I’ve accepted that, but finding a balance between talking about nothing else and telling him nothing is more difficult than I realised. Talking to the amazing women I’ve met through interviews has already been better therapy than I could have paid for.

“I don’t want to burden you with everything that comes up. It is, and it’s going to. Talking about it and writing about it bring it all back. And that’s ok, I expected it. I’m meeting these amazing women who get it, and I talk to them.”

“It isn’t a burden, though. Whatever is going on in your head you can tell me.”

“Ok. Just know that I’m OK. I’m not bottling it up like before and I’m not going to let fly like before.”

Even though I have no intention of unloading the crazy on him, I give in. At least I pretend to.

“Why don’t we have dinner with your mum tomorrow, before we leave?”

“I can call and see if she’s busy I suppose. You’re not doing this because I brought it up?”

“I’m doing it because I want to.”

“I’ll check.” He kisses the top of my head and leaves me with the open suitcases, which I proceed to stare at for the next half an hour. The symbolism is perfect really, I have no idea what baggage to take and what to leave behind.

“We’re having dinner at seven with Mum and Emma,” Tom says when I flop down on the couch. “Are you all right? Packed?”

“Haha! Not at all. I put in a pair of jeans and sneakers, which I’ll probably wear on the plane anyway.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “There’s always tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

“About going home? Not really. Are you?”

“A little, yeah. Um… are you planning on introducing me to Nathan?”

“Do you want me to?”

“If you want to, I’m easy either way. I guess I’d be interested because he was such a big part of your life. But I’d also understand if you didn’t want to.”

“We’ll see. I haven’t told him about you yet, so it would be a bit of a shock. Also you’re… you.”

“Up to you, darling.” He drapes an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him.

“I’ll try to talk to you more, but I promise I’m fine. I think going back home for a while will help.”

“Would taking you to bed help?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” I smirk.

He pushes me back onto the couch and positions his leg between mine, leaning down to cover my lips with his open mouth and kiss me slow and deep. His huge hands cup my face, stroke my hair, hold the back of my head so my mouth is crushed against his while he eats at my tongue. Under my shirt his fingers drag over my skin, my back, my ribs.

I let my fingers and hands explore beneath his clothes, the soft warm skin that covers his taut muscles, the tiny hairs on his chest. I tug his shirt over his head and he sits me up to reciprocate, leaving my bra in place and exploring everywhere but my most sensitive parts. By the time we leave the couch for the bedroom we’ve made out on the couch for well over an hour and my lips are bruised.

Such is our tendency to rush I’ve forgotten how satisfying it is to simply kiss and touch him, and he is an amazing kisser. It would be a shame to let that talent go unpracticed.

The remaining clothes are peeled off on the way to the bed, but still we’re in no hurry. Side by side we face each other and devour mouths and necks, tongues and chests and the sensitive spots behind ears and on throats. My hardened nipples ache for him and I press them against his smooth chest in a vain attempt to relieve some of the tension.

With our legs tangled together I can feel his erection grow further against my inner thigh and my body reciprocates his arousal with essence seeping from my entrance. My need for him increases and I push him to his back and let half of my weight rest on his side, taking his hand and putting it on my breast while my lips tease his neck and chest. When I work my way back up to his jaw his hand flexes gently, easing his thumb and forefinger around my nipple while his lips curl into a smile and his tongue flicks briefly to moisten them. Tom turns to look at me, his other hand tucks my hair behind my ear and his blue eyes are tender.

“I love you so much, Bec,” he says, nuzzling his nose against mine. I look down briefly to blink back unexpected tears before returning my gaze to his beautiful eyes.

“I love you, too.”

He shifts his head on the pillow, raises an eyebrow and fixes his gaze on my lips. When I lean in and kiss him he pulls me on top until I’m straddling his hips, his erection rubbing against my cleft and spreading my juices while his hands knead my breasts. With the kiss broken I move my lips to his cheek and behind his ear, he turns his head and groans, pushing the head of his cock harder against my heat. Down his neck my tongue finds his nipple and licks a circle around it until the peak rises against my lips and I graze it with my teeth.

I’m encircled in his arms and rolled back to my side and he pulls my leg over his hip, stretching it to its limit to expose my sex to his skilled fingers. The cool air hits my wet skin and I tense with need before I feel his touch, his fingers, two sliding inside and easily reaching the end like a long-missed puzzle piece. I mewl into his ear, clutching at any flesh I can get a grip on as he slides them in and out with delicious lentor, deliberately pressing on my g-spot every time. I reach down and cup his balls with a firm hand, waiting until he gasps to kiss him hard and startle him into thrusting his hard cock against my leg. Closing my hand around the throbbing shaft I stroke slowly, savouring his moans into my mouth. When our lips part he adds his thumb to the ministrations between my legs, rubbing it over my soaked clit until I let go of his shaft for fear I’ll squeeze and injure it. The decadent slow torture has be balanced on a knife edge, I’m so close I can feel the twitching begin in my legs but he’s keeping me right where he wants me without tipping me over. My cries float out of the room, wanton desperate moans are torn from my raw throat along with rasping breath. I dig my fingernails into his shoulder blades until I’m sure there must be blood and then he starts to swirl his fingers so they never leave that magic little spot and I feel myself falling.

“Yesss,” his whisper is a hiss in my ear as he nips at my neck. “Come apart for me darling.” I bite back a scream as my wound up muscles release like a thick elastic band, spilling thick juices onto his hand and gripping his fingers with every contraction. My legs shake uncontrollably and I bury my face hard in his neck, forgetting even to breathe for a few seconds before gulping lungfuls of air. He continues moving slowly inside, drawing out every last twitch of my orgasm until I turn limp in his arms and he cuddles me against his chest after withdrawing his fingers.

Long minutes pass before I feel like my legs will function, and I take my time nuzzling his neck and dancing my fingertips over his chest. When I look up to his face he catches my mouth in a slow passionate kiss, our tongues gliding together while I straddle him and sink down on his length.

I am never more in love with Tom than when we’re joined like this, the way his eyes always stay open when he’s buried deep inside me, his jaw tense and his mouth slightly open, the way he insists on having our faces pressed together so he can look straight into my soul. His need for connection is so strong that when I grind down further on his cock he sits up to meet me and takes my face in his hands, kissing me hard and moaning into my mouth.

When he pulls back his look is so intense that everything else stops, including me, and for a beat there is nothing except the deep pools of his eyes. I can almost see his brain working behind them and he looks down at me, at our bodies, at my lips, before I see tears filling his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” I swipe at his cheeks and when he tries to look away I bring his face back to mine. “I’m down here. Tell me what’s upset you?”

“I just… I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid I’ll go away again and you’ll be gone when I get back.”

“Why? That won’t happen, I was a mess without you.”

“I need to be your everything.”

“You are. God, I’m in love with you. I don’t know how to show you how much you mean to me, so for now you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Good.” He nods and kind of sobs out a laugh. “Because you… you’re my world, you know that? I’d give up everything if you asked me.”

“I’d never ask you. Are you all right? Is anything else bothering you?” I roll my hips slowly and feel him move inside as his breath catches in his throat.

“No,” he sniffs. “Please continue.”

Strands of hair tickle my back when my head falls with a loud laugh. “You are so fucking polite it’s unnerving.”

“And you are so raw when you’re fucking me I’ll never get enough.” He grips my hair in his hand and tugs, pulling my face back and kissing my mouth roughly. “Fuck me senseless, darling.”

The way he says ‘darling’ when we’re in bed has an entirely different meaning to the rest of the time, and the way it falls from his open mouth is almost enough to get me off on its own.

I carry on slowly, his head rubbing along the top wall and hitting the right spot with every movement. Leaning back and bracing my hands on his knees I can feel his eyes on me, looking me over hungrily while he kneads my breast and rubs the other hand flat down my stomach. Another intense orgasm is building in me, and Tom’s breath shifts when my pussy grips him for more friction. It’s only a matter of time, I wait and thrust… wait and thrust… he lets out a loud moan and uses both hands to pull me up and crush my face with his, his eyes wide and dilated and dark as the midnight sky.

He kisses me one last time and then presses his forehead against me while he fills me with seed, his movement inside enough to tip me over the edge until my whole torso contracts down with spasms. Tom holds me upright against him, holds my face in his hands and kisses me softly with his wide eyes still piercing into me, searching for the look that tells him I need him and can’t survive without him.

I don’t know if he finds it or not, but he pulls my head against his chest and my face nuzzles his neck, his spicy scent filling my senses until all I can do is close my eyes and let him lay me down to sleep in his arms.

* * *

We’re standing at the door to a large house (by British standards. That’s not me being a snob about house sizes, we just have more room to sprawl in Australia I guess.). Tom is laughing at me being anxious, as though the stupid tall man that oozes confidence has never been nervous about anything ever in his entire life.

“You just wait until you meet my crazy family, and we’ll see how cool and collected you are.” I’m not too worried about meeting his mum, by all accounts she is the most lovely warm maternal woman in the world, and as long as I’m conscious of my language I’m pretty good at pleasing parents.

The last time I saw Emma I was storming off like some idiot. And I have no doubt Tom has told her I proceeded to be so blinded by stupidity I collected a cyclist. I rub at my shoulder at the memory and then Tom’s hand covers mine.

“Is it hurting?”

“No, I’m fine. Ring the doorbell.”

“Like hell,” he says, opening the door and dragging me inside to take my coat. “Mum? Em?”

I do not belong here and I have no business being part of this family. No, really. I’m sure they’re going to come rushing and- Yep, here they come.

“Hello, darling,” I assume this is Tom’s mum Diana, because she doesn’t look like the threatening younger woman I encountered on his couch. She hugs Tom quickly and then turns to me.

“You must be the lovely Becca I’ve heard so much about!”

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Mrs Hiddleston.”

“Oh god, Diana. Please.”

As soon as I spot Emma I can feel the heat in my face. I must look like a tomato.

“Emma, this is Becca.”

“I owe you a huge apology, Emma. The way I behaved last time-”

“Was completely understandable, given Tom’s behaviour. He was an arse, and he knows it.” She backhands him in the stomach on her way past and elicits a satisfying “Oof”.

“You are gorgeous, and he can’t stop talking about you. Seriously, that night he wouldn’t shut up, he just kept pacing and raving about trying to get you back. You’re good for him.”

I can see where Tom gets his warmth, his honesty and openness and the way he makes you feel welcome from the second you enter his presence.

“Thanks, I think you’ve forgiven me far more easily than I deserve.”

“Not at all,” Diana chimes in. “He bloody deserved to be walked out on after the way he acted.”

I think I kind of love them.

The only thing they’ll let me do to help is slice the bread, which is probably a good thing because I would completely ruin Diana’s amazing cooking, and by the time we get to Emma’s cheesecake I wonder if I’ll have to loosen my pants.

“Are you all packed for the trip tomorrow, Becca?” Emma asks.

I have to laugh when I remember the complete lack of packing I did last night, fortunately I got it finished in a couple of hours today while Tom was at home so I’m pretty much ready. Before I can answer though, Tom jumps in.

“She’s got one more thing to take. Me.”

“You’re going?”

“You haven’t told them?”

Tom’s mouth gapes open and he looks from Emma to me, wondering which irritated woman to deal with first.

“You wanted to take the announcements slowly and we’ve had so much going on… And yes, I’m going. I’m… we’re…”

“Speechless?” Emma says with a chuckle.

“I love her. I’m in love with Rebecca.” The way he looks at me makes me glad I’m sitting down, my legs turn to jelly. He takes my hand from my leg and laces his fingers in between mine, stroking the side with his thumb.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Emma, stop it. We’re really happy for you, darling. You too, Becca.”

“I love you too,” I whisper while my cheeks burn up again.

“Why don’t we go and make tea?” Tom suggests, standing from the table.

“Sounds lovely.”

“No sex in the kitchen!” Emma calls as Tom closes the door.

Tom puts down the empty plates and clasps his hands at my lower back, and I stand on my tippy toes so my face almost reaches his.

“I love you, and I love them.” My lips brush his as I speak and I feel him smile against mine before he kisses me.

“I haven’t told them everything, so you know. It didn’t feel right for me to tell the whole story.”

I don’t know how I feel about that. I understand, but I hate just spilling it all out to people.

“It can wait. I mean if ever you want to, go ahead.”

By the time we’re ready to leave it’s far later than I intended, and I’m so glad we already planned on staying together at Tom’s house.

* * *

The anxiety about the airport starts right on cue at 3am, and I’m wide awake. Tom has warned me and told me not to worry because no one knows who I am – thanks, love – but there’s no way I’m going back to sleep. I tip-toe to the kitchen for a cup of tea, knowing my big sprawled out sloth is snoring his head off, and sit by myself on the couch.

Until last night I never thought Tom was vulnerable, and I’m not sure I realised how much I could hurt him. We’ve never really talked about what I did by up and leaving when I was pregnant, and it’s really only now I see how exposed he is. Not just his heart, but the questions he’ll probably be facing once we’ve been out in public a few times.

Why did I not think of any of this before now, I’m a journalist for god’s sake?!

After a while I hear his soft footfalls behind me, his strong arms draping over me from behind the couch, and his breath as he kisses my neck.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Only when I tried to cuddle you and you weren’t there.”

“Sorry. I was about to come back to bed anyway.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, just let me get a drink.”

With a belly full of warm tea I’m half way asleep when Tom snuggles into my back, and just barely all the way when his erection tells me sleep is the last thing on his mind.

“Thomas, your cock has an inappropriate sense of timing.”

“Would you like me to put it away?”

It’s only when it nudges into my opening that by ‘away’ he doesn’t actually mean away. He takes his time to bury himself inside and his arms wrap around me from behind, teasing my nipples and clit until we climax together in a symphony of soft moans and sighs.

Just as I hear his quiet snores on the back of my neck and I’m floating in that sated inky sea of almost asleep, the alarm on Tom’s phone goes off.

He swats at it to turn it off and I sit upright, completely bewildered. No way I’m going back to sleep now.

“Why did you set that so early? The flight isn’t until 9:30.”

And just like that he goes from snuggly sloth to energizer bunny with his feet on the floor while he pulls his running shirt over his head.

“I wanted to go for a run first.”

I give him the only response he deserves – a pillow aimed at his head – before I pull the covers over my head.


	34. Chapter 34

Drying the ends of my hair with a towel I sit down on the edge of the bed and I’m hit with a flying phone to the thigh.

“Nathan called.”

The tightness of his voice is unmistakable. I swallow a sigh and turn to see him with his lips pressed into a hard white line.

“He just wants to-”

“I know. He knows you’re coming and he wants to arrange to see you. I understand.”

“You’re as uncomfortable as a bed of nails, though. If you had hackles they’d be pointing at the ceiling.”

He moves around the bed to stand in front of me and pulls me up into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“It’s me, Bec. Not you. I’m not angry or anything.”

“Good. Because my future is with you. I’m going to call him back and get it out of the way.”

He releases me and I let the phone dial while I’m moving to the back yard. It’s so warm I can actually go outside in the morning and not freeze, it’s difficult to get used to.

“I’ll get right to it,” Nathan says when I tell him I’m getting ready to go to the airport. “I have to tell you something. I’m seeing someone. I’ve been seeing her for a couple of months.”

“That’s great, Nath! I really happy for you. Anyone I know?”

I am genuinely surprised when there’s no disappointment on my side. I really just want the best for him, I want nothing more than for him to be happy.

“Yes, actually. It’s Tahlie.”

There’s the kick in the guts I was waiting for. Tahlie and her husband were our closest couple friends, and they separated just after we lost James. She was an amazing friend to both of us and gave Nath someone to lean on when I just wasn’t up to it.

Evidently she was more supportive than I realised.

“Becca?”

“Sorry, I’m just… packing. Packing while we’re talking.” I lie.

“Is that all right?”

“That you’re seeing Tahlie? Of course, why wouldn’t it be? You know I love her.”

“I just didn’t want it to be weird when you were here. She’s moved in with me.”

“Not wasting any time, then.”

“Anyway, I just didn’t want to spring it on you-”

“No, it’s fine. I’m bringing someone along so maybe the four of us can have dinner or something?”

Why? Why would I say that? Let’s take that level 8 awkward and crank it up to 20.

“That would be amazing. So you’re bringing a man?”

“Yeah. I have to go, but we’ll catch up in a couple of days. You’re picking me up on Wednesday morning?”

“Just send me a text when you’re ready.”

“I’ll see you then.”

I hang up before I can say more, because I know if I tell him about Tom now it will sound like I’m trying to trump his relationship with mine. And it might be a tiny bit true. Only, he and Tahlie are living together and Tom and I can’t seem to go more than a day without tension of some kind.

* * *

“That is not your only suitcase, surely?” I say when Tom wheels his to the door next to mine. It’s less than half the size, he could probably take it as carry-on. I’ll be surprised if mine is under the weight limit.

“I travel often and light,” he smiles. “And I have everything I need to take right here.” He encircles me with his arms and nuzzles my neck.

“Awww, you corny bugger.”

“I’m sorry I was weird before.” I watch him as he picks up his coffee and takes a sip, licking the flavour from his pink lips, the way his fingers hug the cup so delicately. Watching Tom do mundane things is something I will never tire of.

“I get it, but you have nothing to worry about. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Nathan is seeing someone. Living with her, actually. She was – is – a friend of ours.”

“How do you feel about that?” He uses his middle finger to push his glasses up his nose, which I know means his mind is working flat chat, but he makes me feel like I should lie back on the couch and spill out my brain for analysis. He frowns and cocks his head when I chuckle.

“It’s fine. She’s lovely, I’m happy for them. It’s a little awkward I guess, but then she was married before. I suppose she still is, they only separated after we lost James. Nathan must have found more comfort in her than I thought.”

There is a hint of bitterness in my voice and I cringe at my own errant thoughts. He lets the silence stretch out between us and I’m beginning to wonder if he was a psychologist in his past life.

“It’s fine.” I shrug.

“You said that already. It’s all right to be bothered by him moving on, especially with someone you know.”

“I want him to be happy. I am, why shouldn’t he be?”

“He should. Will I be meeting them while we’re there?”

“Yes. I stupidly suggested a double dinner date, so I guess you will. Not what I had in mind for the two of you to meet for the first time, but why not? I have to see him alone first, and I know that won’t be easy for you… but I need you to just respect it.”

He nods, and my therapist has been replaced with a man who is clearly not in control of his own thoughts, but he doesn’t let me say any more. “Come on, we have to go. I need to check in with Luke on the way to the airport.”

* * *

When we’re checking in I can feel the eyes on us before I even risk a look, and while I’m watching people take pictures of Tom I overhear a snippet of his conversation.

“Mr Hiddleston we have a seat available in first class, I can upgrade you if you like?”

He looks over at me and raises his eyebrows.

“Do you have two?”

I shake my head but apparently I’m a little too subtle about it.

“Of course, is there someone travelling with you?”

“Yes.” He nods and smiles in my direction and the woman checking me in stares at my face for a few seconds before a grin escapes her professional composure.

“Does that happen to you all the time?” I ask as we’re walking away.

“No,” he shakes his head. “This is only the second time. The first time I declined and Luke looked at me like I had three heads. He assures me it has to do with my frequent flyer status and not having my face everywhere. It happens a fair bit if I book economy and get upgraded to business.”

“I was offered it once when I was travelling back and forth every month, but that was only a discounted upgrade from cattle class to business. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome. More room in first class, wait until you see it.”

I stop short and he keeps walking for a few paces before he realises. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw that look in your eye just now. We are not getting frisky on the plane, Thomas.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “I know. I have other plans for that.”

We have almost two hours before boarding and rather than hide out in the lounge Tom and I wander toward the shops. His big, warm hand slips around mine, his long fingers intertwining with my shorter ones like the keys on a piano for a perfect fit.

Once we’ve killed an hour we stroll hand in hand toward the lounge to wait out the remaining time, and we’re almost there when I realise the woman in front of us who looks like she’s taking a selfie of herself and her friend is actually photographing Tom and me. I look up at him and try to pull my hand away but he meets me with a smile.

“I know, I saw, and I don’t care. Let them talk. Let them talk about my new love, how beautiful she is and how happy we are. Besides, we’re about to leave the country. It will blow over before we get back.”

I have to roll my eyes at his naivety but I return his smile and let them get their photos. No doubt his little corner of the  internet will be all afluster before we’re on the plane.

“I’m glad you’re coming with me.” I say when we’re sitting in adjacent chairs. He traces a heart above my knee with his finger and looks down into my eyes.

“I love you so much it’s frightening, Bec. I don’t think I’ve ever said that before. Good frightening.”

“I hate to bring him up again… Nathan and I are having a little ceremony for James. For his birthday.”

“God I’m such an arse, I forgot about it completely. When is it?”

“I don’t think I ever told you the date, Tom. I wouldn’t expect you to remember. On the first, a few weeks ago.”

“I could have taken you out, taken your mind off-”

“I didn’t want you to. I never want you to do that. It’s a significant day that deserves to be recognised, not pushed from my thoughts. And I know that’s not what you meant, I just wanted to explain why I didn’t say anything at the time. The natural reaction of other people is to divert attention to something else. I don’t want to forget. It was the night I went out for dinner with the three women I had interviewed.”

Before he can say anything my phone rings and I see Sam’s face on the screen.

“What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Nothing, everything’s fine. Abby’s in labour.”

“Oh!” I slap my hand over my mouth and Tom gives me an alarmed look before resting his hand on my leg again. “We’re just waiting for our flight, so I guess by the time we get there you’ll be a dad.”

“For Abby’s sake, I hope so,” Sam says with a laugh. “Let me know when you’ve landed.”

“Abby is in labour,” I relay to Tom. “She’ll probably have the baby before we get there.”

“That’s amazing, darling. You’re going to be an aunt.”

I’m flooded with emotions for a few seconds and then I realise Tom is staring at me, waiting for me to finish what I was saying.

“Nathan and I are doing something special for James, sort of a belated birthday thing because we couldn’t line up the exact date. I don’t know why I haven’t told you, why I wasn’t going to tell you, but I will if you’d like to know.”

“Of course I would, but only if you’re comfortable sharing it with me. I know you prefer to keep him close to your heart.”

I swallow hard and take a deep breath.

“There are memorial gardens in Sydney, specifically for babies born sleeping. Sort of a cemetery. Nathan has been looking into it for a while but couldn’t do it without me. We’re going there to put him to rest.”

Tom drapes a long arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him. “That’s beautiful, sweetheart.”

* * *

When we ascend the aircraft to the first class seats I stop so suddenly Tom bumps into my back and knocks me forward.

“You are shitting me, right?” I whisper.

Everything in view is sleek and shiny, all rounded corners and reflective surfaces and blue-tinged lighting. I didn’t know they made aircraft seats this wide.

He pulls me against him to steady me and chuckles in my ear. “This is certainly going to be the most comfortable flight I’ve had in a while.” He puts a gentle hand on my hip. “You’re holding up traffic, Bec.”

I follow the steward to two cubicles in the centre aisle and Tom takes the other side. It takes me the whole time until we’re in the air to regain the ability to speak and I think my mouth is dry from gaping. Tom is watching me like he would a child at Disneyland.

“I’ll happily pay for first class home if it puts that smile on your face the whole way.”

“No need for that, we’ll have to slum it and find other means toward happiness.”

I peer over the barrier at his iPad. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at my calendar. I was hoping there might be some sort of schedule while we’re in Sydney so I know what’s happening when.”

“Oh. Hold on.” I start mine up and send him a copy of my calendar. “Work stuff is green, and I’ve arranged to see Nathan first thing Wednesday morning. After the first five days we can pretty much do what we want.”

“Ten days to ourselves, what on earth will we do?” He puts a finger to his lips like he’s thinking and then winks at me, and quite frankly that wink almost makes me melt into the seat and retract my ‘no plane sex’ statement.

One Iron Man marathon, a little work, and a lot of reading later we arrive in Singapore and I’ve already decided if I’m going to sleep the next leg I need a warm shower. When I try to kiss Tom goodbye at the bathroom door though, I’m made unmistakably aware that I won’t be showering alone.

“Darling, you can’t really expect me to be so close to you – smelling you, touching you, hearing your voice, watching your lovely little fingers flick at the page of your book – for a whole flight without losing my mind. I’ve been hard since you started playing with my fingers at take-off.”

His blue eyes hold my gaze while he drops his pants, and he wasn’t kidding. An actual gasp echoes around the tiny tiled room while he peels off his shirt. I start the water running and kick off my shoes, jeans, and shirt while Tom impatiently unclasps my bra, and we step under the warm shower as one with my hand on his cock and his mouth around my hardened nipple. He moans against my skin and hoists me up against the wall, pushing into me in one thrust and kissing me hard.

This is not at all the relaxing shower I was expecting, but the ‘boneless pile of flesh ready to be poured into bed’ result is the same.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Tom POV for something different :)

##  **_Tom_ **

I was convinced before we left the tarmac at Heathrow that this trip would either cement our relationship or break us altogether, and now there’s not a doubt in my mind.

Any couple who can survive 26 hours straight together with only centimetres separating them – even in the shower – is meant to be together. Or about to spectacularly implode. God, I hope it’s the former.

The lovely stewardess made up both of our beds before we got back on board the plane, but Bec’s is unsurprisingly untouched. Instead she’s snoring very softly in my arms, her head resting on my chest while I stroke her back. I very rarely sleep on planes, although I’ll give it a go this time since it’s the first one I’ve been able to stretch out on, but I wouldn’t be able to either way. I can’t take my eyes off her, so peaceful and content in her sleep with that tiny smile that always resides on her lips. I’ve never felt this way about a woman, never had this feeling of being so over my head I have no choice but to surrender. Bec will never know how deeply I love her, the inordinate amount of time she’s on my mind, the dreams I have of spending our lives together and where my imagination runs to when I let it wander.

I worry so much about her, though. Her emotional state, how she’s going to handle holding her tiny niece for the first time. God but my heart wants me to push her on the idea of children, so much so that sometimes I have to step away to stop it. It’s been this way with her from the beginning – I want to rush her. I want everything with her and I want it all now.

Every time I’ve brought it up she’s shut down the entire conversation with such finality that I’m not certain whether she wants marriage and children in the future or not. Perhaps some higher power has decided I have to take the risk and propose to find out, I doubt she’d be able to worm her way so easily out of that discussion.

Then again, this is Bec. Who am I kidding, the woman could talk me in or out of anything she desired, and I’m quite certain I wouldn’t even know until days later. Rebecca has thoroughly stolen my heart, and I will follow wherever she leads me.

I spoke to a psychologist recently, and I feel a bit strange about not telling Bec but I didn’t want her tip-toeing around me. I needed someone to unpack the feelings I have toward her relationship with Nathan before they eat me up like a cancer. The thing is, had James been born healthy my jealousy toward their connection would be expected – they had a child together, and that’s something I want for us. Her first child will always have been with another man, a man she shared that experience with, a man who isn’t me.

I never said it wasn’t selfish.

But he wasn’t born healthy, and instead they have the everlasting bond of two parents who lost a child. Not an attachment a sound human being would wish on themselves or anyone else, and one I find myself stung by nonetheless. I’m ashamed to admit the way it kicks me in the guts when she mentions it, and determined to sort out my own head without burdening Bec. It’s a lonely, narcissistic place, jealousy.

Still, a part of me is eager to meet Nathan. He has been a significant influence in Becca’s life since she was a teenager and shaped the woman she has become. In that way I have a lot to thank him for, and I have no ill feelings toward him personally.

Bec stirs and her hair brushes my neck, my hand automatically combing up and down her spine to sooth her back to sleep. After a brief contortion into a frown that sweet little smile graces her lips again, and I close my eyes to enjoy her weight on my chest and breath on my throat. Her hair smells of coconut and vanilla when I inhale, a scent I’ve come to associate with her so strongly that my heart immediately beats a little faster even when it’s only a faint trace in my shower, or on a towel she’s used, or her pillow in my bed.

When I open my eyes some of the blinds have been opened and the sun is just starting to light a slither of deep orange on the far horizon. We can’t be far from Sydney now, and I must have slept far longer than I intended.

Bec’s long eyelashes flutter against the curve where my neck and shoulder meet, and I squeeze her against me to plant a kiss in her hair. She’s curled up around me, one side of her body draped over me like silken tendrils of warmth. I don’t know how or why, maybe everything in and from Australia is warmer than home, but no matter how cold it is she’s always so beautifully temperate.

“Good morning, love,” I whisper against her ear.

I feel her mouth smile through the thin cotton of my shirt. “Good morning. I must be crushing you.”

“Nonsense. And if you were, I would sooner be crushed than not have your body against mine.”

“How dare you be so poetic when you wake up,” she chuckles. I love to hear her laugh, and I intend to ensure it happens daily.

“It’s a gift, my lady. There will be breakfast before we land, if you’d like to get dressed.”

“One more minute.”

I won’t complain, but there’s a morning erection growing slightly uncomfortable in my pants, and I fear if she keeps stroking my chest like that with her hand there’ll be a tenting situation when she does go. Still, better that than a cold bed. Sunlight erupts over the horizon and in through the windows, bathing her face in golden light that reflects off the lighter streaks in her hair. She opens her eyes and smiles up at me, and I have to pull her up until her mouth is under mine, opening for my tongue and releasing a tiny whimper that makes my dick hard as a rock and turns the rest of me to jelly.

Eventually we both have to get up and dressed, and then the slow motion of our aircraft-induced isolation is replaced with the fast forward of the descent into Sydney. In the blink of an eye we’ve gone from relaxed and cuddled together to collecting baggage while Bec’s shoulders become more and more stiff.

“Are you all right?” I ask in the cab while I stroke her hand.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “This is so weird, being back. I’m in a cab with luggage going to a hotel. This is my home town, where I grew up, and I feel more a visitor than ever.”

“You’ll be back in the swing of things before you know it.”

* * *

She stands in front of the hotel window wearing only a fluffy robe, fresh out of the shower and drying the ends of her hair with a towel while she stares out at the city. I’m sitting in an armchair watching the notifications pile up on my phone now that I’ve turned it back on, but I set it down just to watch her. She takes a few moments and pauses everything else, just looking out without moving or speaking. I watch her shoulders rise with a long, deep breath and then she exhales and it’s as though everything that’s bothered her since leaving is released.

She’s home.

When she turns back to me there’s a smile on her face.

“I love this city.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh for these two, but I promise you won’t be disappointed. Updates will be more frequent now and if I’m in the right mood there might even be another one tomorrow since this one is kind of short ;)
> 
> On to the request… I need a favour from all of you amazing people who kudos and comment and send me messages of encouragement and the good kind of hatred. My other writing could really do with a little bit of promotion, and if you sign up to my newsletter you’ll get a free ebook of sweet, sexy shorts. Some of these you may recognise as one shots I’ve posted on Tumblr that have had a little tinkering, and some are brand spanking (no pun intended) new.
> 
> So, the Tumblr blog is elsagrainger.tumblr.com , my website is elsagrainger.com, or you can go to Facebook (www.facebook.com/elsagraingerwrites) and sign up under the Newsletter Sign Up tab. The newsletter is once a month and there will be the occasional new release notification but I promise no more than one email a week and you can unsubscribe at any time. All of the Amazon links are on the website as well just in case you feel so inclined as to buy something :)
> 
> If you like what you read, then please if you could share with your followers I’d be sincerely appreciative, I really want to make a go of this and therefore sometimes I have to do a bit of shameless plugging.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update as promised because the last one got so much love and was a bit short :)  
> Warning for feels, lots of them.

**Becca  
**

Nathan meets me in the lobby and I can’t deny when he hugs me it has a familiarity I’ll always treasure.

“It’s good to see you, Becca.”

“You too.”

The car trip is quiet, I don’t think either of us know how to voice the mix of anticipation and dread we feel. When we arrive and he takes a small blue wooden box from the back of the car my eyes immediately fill with tears.

“Nathan,” I breathe. “It’s beautiful.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but just nods and holds it out for me. ‘James Nathaniel Horner’ is spelled out on the lid, along with his birthday. On each side a set of three building blocks are painted on, and I trace my finger over the letters. The front and back are J, N, and H, but the sides are different. N, R, and J – Nathan, Rebecca, and James.

I carry the box while Nathan leads the way to our space, right in front of a rose bush that’s just forming its first buds. A hole has already been dug out for us, and all that remains is the actual act of putting it in the ground and covering it.

“Can we look inside one last time?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Inside is the tiny jar of ashes, the bands that the hospital attached to my wrist and ankle, the tiny outfit we bought on the way home from the hospital after the first ultrasound. Then inside a plastic sleeve are copies of our pictures and the ultrasound stills from the first time they picked up a problem.

Without asking I know that Nathan will have kept a copy of them just in case, just as he didn’t need to ask me if I wanted him to.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I whisper, my fingers touching each item over and over. My heart is breaking all over again and tears stream unhindered down my cheeks.

“Take as long as you need, Becca. We’ve got all the time in the world.” I nod and he puts a thick, strong arm around my shoulders. “This is going to hurt to hear, just like it’s going to hurt to do this, but I think you need to.”

He takes a long, shaky breath and I wonder what sort of blow is coming this time.

“When this is done, and the special issue of _Lion and Lace_ is done, you have to let it rest. Let James rest. If you don’t you’ll never be able to move on.”

“I don’t want to move on.”

The frail words hang in the still air for a few moments before I hear him sigh and blow them away.

“Tell me about the man you’re seeing.”

I replace the lid on the box as though I don’t want his sacred memories corrupted by our new relationships, and shake my head.

“Not here.”

“Why? Is he nothing special? He must be if you brought him here.”

“Nath…”

“Tahlie made the box,” he blurts out. “And before you get too angry I want you to know it’s something she does, she makes them for exactly this purpose. She also does keepsake boxes to sell as a hobby, but the memorial ones she always does without charge.”

“You asked _her_ -”

“No. She offered, and she wasn’t sure about doing it. But I love her, Becca. And she’s part of my life, just like you and James.”

“It’s Tom. The one I photographed and did the story on,” I whisper.

“The actor?”

I nod.

“Does he know everything?”

“Pretty much. But James was ours. Mine and yours.”

“Yes, but you can’t hold onto that forever. As someone told me, he might always have a piece of your heart but that doesn’t mean his piece can’t go back together with all the other pieces. Letting him rest here, and moving forward with your life, doesn’t mean you’re forgetting. It means you’re putting it somewhere safe and living the rest of your life.

“What you’re doing, raising awareness and getting people to speak up, is amazing. You should be really proud. But only if it’s part of the healing and not putting off letting it go.”

“Don’t get this the wrong way, but I think that’s easier for you to say when you don’t have a permanent physical reminder and you can always have more children.”

“I know you think that, but don’t for one second think I’m not petrified the same thing might happen again. And remember that for a few days there I thought I’d lose you, too. My first love, at the time my only love, and my baby.

“Let Tom in. If you love him, it’s OK to take that leap again. Your loss, our loss, isn’t any less because of that. And it’s OK to be happy again even though you’re missing a tiny part of yourself. That little part is here, safe and sound.”

I trace the letters again, knowing I will never be ready to put this little box away, and knowing that’s exactly why he organised all of this. Because it has to be done this way. I hand it to Nathan and nod, and he does what I can’t.

* * *

When I get back to the hotel Tom doesn’t say any words, he just holds me tight in his lap. After what feels like hours I find my voice.

“Would you come and see Abby with me? I got a text from Sam and the baby was born last night.”

“Bec, are you sure you’re up to it today?”

He’s examining my face, tracing his fingertips over my cheekbones, and I know I must look like hell with my red puffy eyes and blotched skin.

“Yes.”

“Then I’d love to.”

With fresh makeup doing its darndest to cover my mottled skin, we walk down the hospital corridor with Tom’s hand squeezing mine. He looks down at me often and I wonder what he’s thinking as I lead him through the maze of hallways to maternity.

“You sure?”

I nod and make to keep walking but he stops me.

“Is this… were you in this hospital?”

“Yes.”

“In this ward?”

Again I nod as the memories rush back – being in a small private room at the far end of the ward, closed off from the other patients to give us some privacy. We were treated with absolute care and comfort, but leaving without a baby and having to walk past tens of other mothers just about did me in. Tom is watching me with a concerned frown and I force a smile. He takes my face in both hands and shakes his head before kissing my lips.

“I don’t know how you do it, you’re amazing.”

I don’t feel amazing, but I am very keen to meet my new niece or nephew – especially since they wouldn’t tell me which it was on the phone.

When we find Abby’s room I’m relieved we’ve timed it well and no one else is there, just Abby and Sam.

“Hi, Aunty Becca,” she says quietly. In the wheeled bassinet I can see a bundle of blankets moving and I hug Sam on the way over to Abby.

“Congratulations, guys.”

“Come meet your niece. This is Layla.”

“Abby,” I gasp, “She’s perfect.”

And she is. There’s not a mark on her smooth pink skin, not a bump on her head, already covered in reddish hair. A tiny hand works its way out of the wrapping and I instinctively reach out to offer a finger for her tiny fingers and curl around. I’m almost overcome with what I can only describe as emotions; I can’t even label any of them.

“You can pick her up… if you want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re family.”

I look over at Tom, watching Layla’s hand open and close around my finger. “Shit, sorry. Abby and Sam, this is Tom.”

He greets them both, no doubt with his usual charm, but I don’t actually hear anything that’s said. I’m occupied lifting a warm bundle of pink blankets from the bassinet into my arms. Layla wriggles a little, kicking at her cocoon before settling with a contented sigh. I bring her forehead to my face and kiss her lightly, inhaling that beautiful baby scent I’ve really only heard about before without experiencing it. In fact I thought it was a myth and babies just smelled like powder or baby wash.

It’s not a myth, far from it. She smells sweet, reminiscent of milk and honey but with an earthiness to it like a warm rainforest. I bite down on my lip to keep it from trembling and when I look up Abby has tears streaming down her cheeks. I can feel Tom peeking over my shoulder, his breath warm and comforting on my neck.

“She is beautiful. Congratulations,” he says softly to Sam.

“How are you feeling, Abby?” I try to deflect from my overwrought feelings.

“Really good. The birth was pretty easy as labours go, no complications, no stitches. Layla is healthy and we should be going home the day after tomorrow.”

I love her for not hesitating this time, not dancing around it or worrying about me.

“I’m so happy for you guys, you must be so in love.”

“We are,” Sam says as he gets his phone out. “Can I have a photo?”

Tom puts his arms around me from behind, and whispers ‘cheese’ in my ear until I smile through the tears still threatening to spill over. He reaches over and strokes her downy hair, laying his huge hand on her tummy when she stirs. I can’t believe she’s so quiet, so still but for the occasional murmur in her sleep. She yawns and my heart feels like it might burst, it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

We stay until she starts to fuss and give Abby some privacy to breastfeed, and before I leave she whispers in my ear as I’m hugging her.

“I can’t get these melons out with Tom Hiddleston in the room! You have some explaining to do, lady!”

“And I will, plenty of time. You did good, mumma.”

“Thank you for coming, Bec. I know it can’t be… thank you. It means a lot to both of us.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. We’ll see you soon, call me later if you want.”

When we get outside into the gardens I can’t hold it in any more. I hug my thick cardigan around myself and stride off for the nearest vaguely private corner, facing into the tall hedge that surrounds the area. Tom only takes a second to catch me, and he wraps himself around me so I can sob quietly into his chest. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything but hold me tight against him, and I know now why I asked him to come with me.

I want to share it with him. I want him to know all of my dark corners, all the sad places that frighten me, and the empty holes that I dare not explore on my own.

He stays silent when I give the cab driver the address, and doesn’t ask where we are when we arrive. I lead him through the gardens, gripping his hand in mine, until we arrive at the angel statue that stands at the entrance to a particular rounded garden.

The lawns are perfectly manicured, the grass that was cut away only this morning already replaced and the seam barely visible. White roses and azaleas bloom in a circular pattern, tiny bronze plaques catch the sunlight around the concrete edge. Tom stops me and puts his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. His voice is low and soft, hesitant to break the thick silence that hangs over this place.

“Rebecca, please don’t feel you have to do this for me.”

“I want to. It’s part of me that I’ve tried to hide from you.”

“And that’s OK, I understand. It’s between you and Nathan.”

“It is, but… I love you. I want you to be in all the parts of my life, even the less shiny ones.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I do. If you want to, it’s not all pretty rainbows.”

“Eheh. I know it’s not.” A tear falls from his eye onto his cheek and he sniffs as he swipes it away. “Sorry, I just… if you’re ready for this then I’d be honoured. If you’re not, though, don’t do it for me.”

Without answering I take his hand again and take him to the newest plaque on the edging: ‘James Nathaniel Horner. Born an Angel 1st of July 2014’.  


	37. Chapter 37

##  **Tom**

I’ve long stopped trying to hold back my tears. Bec has her back pressed against my front and she holds tight to my arms folded over her chest. The closest I’ve come to something like this was a mate who accidentally impregnated his girlfriend when we were at RADA and she went on to have an early miscarriage. To be here, in this serene and breathtaking sanctuary, faced with the commemorations of tiny lives that weren’t allowed to begin, is utterly overwhelming. I feel as though I’m invading a sacred temple, a sanctorium I have no business being inside because I haven’t experienced the devastating loss this impossibly large number of families had to endure.

The idea of what happened to Bec and James happening to so many others makes my heart literally ache in my chest. And yet there is a lightness here, in the white flowers and the reflection of the sun that casts a golden light over the angels. I dare not break the reverent silence that hangs like a thick blanket over the entire area save for the distant song of a bird, so we stand together, and after a while I put my head down so my nose rests on her shoulder, trying to muffle my sobs with the arm that wraps around her chest. Bec reaches back and strokes my cheek, holding my face down next to hers.

When she turns in my arms I wipe my thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks and she presses a salty kiss to my lips. She speaks to me only centimetres from my face in a calm, soft, voice that tears at my heart as though she’s been reading me this whole time.

“You’re a part of this, Tom. The pain and loss we went through affects you, too. The way you were hurt when I left without an explanation, the times I’ve shut down and closed you out because I couldn’t talk about how I felt, or the times I’ve dumped everything out on you and expected you to deal with it. I’m not saying you lost a baby like we did, but you lost a part of me that day. This morning that part of me was buried with him, and I can’t promise you’ll get it back. So it’s your hurt, too. Your heartbreak. And you’ve been so good to me, so loving and patient. I didn’t understand why you’d feel like I wasn’t your everything, but I did today. I can’t run to Nathan for comfort any more, when one day it might be you and me hearing that we can’t have children together.”

“I love you so much. This is a huge deal to me, Bec.”

She smiles up at me, just a little one rather than her usual light-up-the-room smile, but it warms me from the inside out and I’m sure some of the weight has just lifted from her shoulders.

* * *

After such an emotional day, I’m hardly surprised when she tells me she’s put off dinner with her family until tomorrow. From what I hear they’re lovely, but not good at communicating or dealing with their feelings. Back at the hotel I make tea for us both and sit next to her on the couch where she’s curled into the corner. Bec lifts her legs so she can rest them on top of mine and looks up at me with puffy eyes. She’s been all but silent since we left the cemetery and as much as I usually can’t stand it I’m determined not to speak until she’s ready.

Today her vulnerability is at its peak, and although she’s relayed events to me before she’s never allowed me to see her so raw. Stripped back and baring her soul I love her more with every passing minute, and it’s all I can do to bite my lip and not say anything. The time we spent at the cemetery almost tore me apart, and my heart still aches at the thought. For all my self-centered thoughts of late I wish with all that I have that she could have had a healthy baby, even if it was with Nathan. Seeing her today with Layla, the way she inhaled against her skin and cradled her so tenderly, tugged at something inside me that goes far deeper than jealousy of her first pregnancy being with another man. I wish James had been born and gone home with them so that she could have experienced holding and mothering her own child, because Rebecca was meant to be a mother. If it turns out she isn’t able to have more it will destroy her.

She regards me now with a frown furrowing her forehead, her head cocked to one side as her eyes try to read my thoughts. I smile and squeeze her hand in a gesture of reassurance, because I’d never tell her what I was thinking.

If sacrificing our relationship could bring him back, or guarantee she would go on to have her own family, I’d do it. Before today I was afraid she might never change her mind about wanting to have more children, but now I have a far greater fear and it chills me to even consider it.

What if she does decide she wants more, decide the risk of complication and loss is worth it, only to find that physically it isn’t possible?

It’s too painful to contemplate.

What I do know is that whatever happens I want us to deal with it together.

“You OK?” She whispers. I tear my eyes away from the city skyline outside, the sun casting the shadow of the bridge onto the blue water of the harbour and the unmistakable white sails of the Opera House. Bec’s green eyes are swollen and shiny, she looks like she hasn’t slept for weeks.

“Of course I am. Are you?”

“I think I will be.”

We decide on a light room service dinner and then I run her a hot bath and insist she soaks in it while I read in bed. When she emerges from the bathroom I can see the exhaustion in her slow movements and I lay my arm out for her to snuggle against me, surprised when she kisses my mouth and pulls my body against hers.

“Bec,” I groan when my dick springs against her. “You should get some sleep.”

“I will,” she says against my lips, nuzzling her nose against mine. “I need you.”

As she straddles me and sinks down on my barely erect cock without a second of foreplay it hits me like a pallet of bricks – this isn’t about sex. She needs the closeness and the connection, the intimacy. For all of her marvellous journalistic qualities she has inheritied her family’s lack of intimate communication and there’s no sugar coating it; she absolutely sucks at talking about her emotions. This isn’t the first time our overwrought feelings have been expressed with intercourse rather than words, and I doubt it will be the last. Maybe this is the way it will always be, and maybe it’s OK that she can’t put it in to words.

So I sit up and take her in my arms while she rolls her hips and makes love to me slowly. My hands never leave her body, and my lips never leave her skin. When we finally find release together there’s barely a sound, she holds her breath and it catches in her throat before she collapses against me and cries quietly into my neck.

Without letting her go I lie us both down under the covers and hold her close against my chest  where she falls asleep quickly in my arms. After an hour watching her lovely sleeping face I pull out my phone and get to work, I have some planning to do for next week.

* * *

My cool, naked body seeks her warmth and I stretch my hand out to find her side is empty. I open my eyes but barely see anything in the dark, except for the bedside clock telling me it’s almost 6am. For a few moments I lie awake listening for a sound of life, wondering if she’s in the bathroom or perhaps gone out for a run.

I don’t recall the last time Bec went out for a run, but if she’s gone this morning without me I owe her a pillow to the stomach.

Just as I sit up I hear her whimper and sob, and adrenaline propels me forward and out the bedroom door to the small sitting room where I find her doubled over on the couch.

“Bec, what’s wrong?”

“Just cramps… I took something for it a while ago… ah fuck… I’m OK.”

“You’re not OK, darling. Come back to bed.”

“I need a minute.”

“Here.” I stand and lift her into my arms and back to the bed, tucking her up under the covers and curling my body around her. “You’re shaking, are you cold?”

“No.” She turns over and shoves her face into my neck, her knees pulled up to her stomach. She whimpers again and I can feel the cold sweat from her face on my skin. “Ow,” she sobs, and it tears at my heart. I don’t know what to do or how to help, but I’m sure this isn’t good.

“I know you don’t want to talk, but are you sick? Can I get you something?”

“Not sick. It happens every time, just not always this bad.”

“Every time?” 

Yes, I’m male and ignorant to the ‘time’ she’s talking about. But I’ve never seen her like this, ever, and we spend an awful lot of time together.

“With my period, Tom. Didn’t you grow up with sisters?”

Evidently we’re between cramps right now, because snarky Bec didn’t have a voice a moment ago.

“Yes, but I’d sure as hell remember if this happened. Every month?”

“Every couple of months.” She groans and curls up again, and I rub her lower back while she sniffs into my neck.

“God, darling. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. It’s only a few hours and the tablets should kick in soon. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Shh.”

This can’t be normal, my male gut that was raised in a house full of women tells me this is not right. Eventually she falls back to sleep, but I can’t. I have a script to read so once I’m sure she’s out I move out to the couch. Every few minutes she cries without waking, and every time I check on her she’s drenched in sweat but not hot. I’m way out of my depth. I consider calling mum, or one of my sisters… hell I’d call Olly if I thought he had any expertise in the area. But I’d have to explain the whole story, and that’s not something I’m up to just now.

Just after 8am my phone bleeps with a calendar alert reminding me Bec has an interview scheduled this morning. There’s no way she can do it, and no way in hell I’m waking her, so I call Prue for her instead.

“What’s wrong, Tom? Is Bec OK?”

“Yes and no. She has, uh… cramps. Bad ones, that make her cry.”

“Oh.”

“She has an interview scheduled this morning but she’s just gone back to sleep, so I don’t want to wake her.”

“You’re a bloody good man, Thomas. I’ll sort everything out and reschedule her appointments today. Tell her I’ll email the changes to her calendar and to get some rest.”

“Thanks, Prue. Is this normal?”

“It can be, although I’ve known her a long time and she’s never talked about them being that bad. I’m sure she will be fine.”

I don’t share her confidence.

She’s stirring when I go back to the bedroom, rubbing her eyes and combing her fingers through her hair.

“What time is it?” She says when I hand her a glass of water.

“Almost 8:30. Prue is rescheduling your appointments.”

“What? Why?”

“Bec, you were sobbing and sweating in pain. I called her for advice when your alarm went off.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re adorable.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A lot better than before.”

“Are you telling me that happens every time?”

“Well… no. Not to that extent. They got worse after…” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. “The upside is all I really get is cramps, if you know what I mean.”

“Nothing?”

“A spot here and there. That’s it. Because of the pill, I guess.”

I have never been more confused in my life. 

“You guess? Have you told a doctor?”

“Yeah, I mentioned it at the clinic last time I got my script filled in London. He said it was fine.”

“I think you should get a second opinion. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stand seeing you in that much pain.”

“OK,” she sighs. “I’ll call my doctor today, maybe they can get me in tomorrow.”

That was way too easy. I feel like we reached a new milestone in our relationship this morning, and perhaps I’d be happy about that if I weren’t so worried.

“I thought maybe before we go back I could whisk you away somewhere warm for a few days.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Why?” She looks at me sideways. “What are you planning?”

“A surprise holiday, that’s all.”

“Go nuts, as long as it’s just you and me it will be perfect.”


	38. Chapter 38

## Becca

Tom squeezes and releases my hand when Dr Wendy calls my name, and I wince as I stand up and another cramp takes hold. She walks toward me and then he’s right there with an arm around my waist helping me up onto the bed in her office.

“Stay, Tom. Please?” He smiles and sits down in the chair while I sit on the bed as instructed. “Wendy, this is Tom. My um-”

“Boyfriend,” he finishes, shaking her hand.

“Why do you get all the gorgeous ones?” She says to me. Tom blushes and gives me a sympathetic look. “What’s going on, honey?”

“I have period cramps, I think. But they’re really really bad this time. I almost passed out on the way here.”

“Have you taken anything?”

“The usual stuff, but it hasn’t worked.”

“Heavy bleeding?”

“No, just spotting. That’s all I get now.”

“Lie down, let me have a look. How long ago was the pregnancy?”

“A year.”

“Jeez, that’s gone fast. When did you stop bleeding?”

“Once I started the pill it just tapered back to nothing.”

She presses down right where the bump on my stomach is and I cry out.

“If you’re going to do that I’m going to need a bucket.”

She hands me a plastic container but promises not to do it again, instead asking me to stand up and drawing up a syringe of painkillers.

“Do we trust Tom to look after you this afternoon?”

“Yeah, we do.” I smile over at him, willing him to stop wringing his hands with worry and trying not to flinch when she jabs the syringe into my bum.

Why is it that injections to take away pain hurt so bloody much?!

She opens my file on her computer and I can see she’s scrolling through the records from the hospital.

“You’ll need to see a specialist, but I would say the pain is caused by the scarring in your uterus, that’s certainly where the tenderness is located. You’re living in London, now?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll print you out a list of people to see over there if you like. Unfortunately I doubt you’ll get in to one here before you have to go, but I’ll call the hospital and see what I can do. I’ll give you some better meds as well. How often is it happening?”

“I only have a period every four or five months, you said it was OK to do that.”

“It is, that’s not the problem. In fact when it’s this bad that’s probably a good thing. The scarring shouldn’t cause you any health concerns, but if you want to fall pregnant again-”

“I don’t.” I interject.

“I meant in the future. I understand you don’t right now, but it’s better to know what’s going on now than let it get worse.”

“OK.”

As soon as I get down off the bed a stabbing pain doubles me over and it’s all I can do not to scream. I barely get the bucket to my mouth before emptying my stomach into it with more force that I thought possible, and Wendy pushes the chair behind me so I have no choice but to sit while everything sort of spins. Tom rubs my back until the vomiting and cramps subside and I wipe my tear-soaked face. Only then I notice Wendy talking to someone on the phone with a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re OK, darling. It’s gonna be OK,” Tom coos in my ear.

“The specialist at the hospital is expecting you as soon as you can get over there,” Wendy says, hanging up the phone and handing me a referral.

* * *

I’ve never been so mortified in my life, and as much as I’m happy to have Tom by my side while we wait at the hospital I wish he hadn’t had to witness any of this. I think he does, too, because he’s white as a ghost. I made him go get a strong coffee while the nurse cleaned me up and got me into a gown, but I’m not sure it’s helping.

It’s making me wish I was allowed to eat and drink, though.

When the doctor comes to see me I’ve had blood tests taken and thankfully the second dose of painkillers has kicked in. He has a kind smile and soft voice, and he pats my hand when he speaks.

“I’m going to do an ultrasound, but we’ll need to do a more invasive procedure if it doesn’t show anything. Perhaps Tom would be best waiting outside?”

Tom squeezes my hand and I nod. “Go get something to eat before you pass out,” I say when he kisses me.

“God, you’re bossy.” He winks and presses a kiss to my lips before he leaves the room.

The lovely Dr Vincent is organised in a matter of minutes, and I’m surprised at how fast he’s pointing things out to me on the screen.

“You have Asherman’s Syndrome. Was that mentioned to you last year?”

“They said there was a small amount of scarring.”

“That’s Asherman’s. You’re at what we call grade three, which is severe. The scarring has contracted your uterus down, the pain you’re experiencing is because you’re bleeding internally.”

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s not life threatening, but it will continue to be painful and it’s best to have it corrected. The way you’ve been skipping cycles with the pill is probably why your symptoms haven’t been worse.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I can reduce it, yes. We go in and remove the scar tissue, use some gel that stops or slows it, and put you on some temporary medications.”

“Can I still have children?”

“I’ll be honest, you’d need multiple procedures before I’d consider clearing you to try. If you fell pregnant without the scarring being cleared you would certainly miscarry, and at this stage you wouldn’t be able to conceive at all. After all of that, I’m afraid the odds are stacked against you. I have seen worse cases than yours go on to have healthy babies, though, so there’s always a chance. I’m sorry that news isn’t more positive.”

That prognosis is significantly worse than last year, but I don’t let on to the doctor and I don’t intend letting on to Tom, either.

“I was already warned I probably wouldn’t fall pregnant again. It’s OK.”

“You’re living in London?”

“Yes.”

“I’d suggest having your treatment completed over there, then. It will be ongoing over a period of months if you decide to go ahead. I have a colleague I can recommend and pass your file to.”

“Thank you.”

“Your uterus is trying to do its job and expel the lining, it must have torn a part of the scar tissue which allowed some of the blood that’s collected there to escape. You should be OK with the medication you’ve got, just stay on the pill until you can see the specialist in London. I’ll send the nurse back in with your discharge papers and you can go home.”

“Thanks, doctor.”

“How are you?” Tom asks as soon as the doctor is out the door.

“I’m OK. It’s nothing to worry about, just a bit of scar tissue.”

“What do you need to do?”

“Nothing. It’s normal. Everything’s fine. I need a shower and then we can go to mum’s.”

“Tonight? You still want to go?”

“Yes, otherwise everything else will be out of whack. We’re going out with Nathan and Tahlie tomorrow, and I will not have your surprise holiday postponed.”

He clearly doesn’t believe me, but he helps me into my clothes all the same and doesn’t ask any more questions.

* * *

The best part about postponing dinner with my family is that it means everyone is here at once, including Abby, Sam, and Layla, and that means less awkward silences. Coby’s wife and two boys have made a surprise appearance as well, and when my dad knocks on the door I just about fall over in shock.

“It’s like Christmas in July,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good. I can’t believe everyone is here.”

Poor Tom, he’s not going to know what hit him after my crazy relations are done with him, he’s had an emotional day as it is.

I usher dad inside and start the introductions over again since we were interrupted twice.

“All right, everyone this is Tom. We have Carla, my mum, Lance, my dad, you met Sam and Abby yesterday, and this is Coby my older brother and his wife, Jane. Oh, and Nic and Dan, their two boys.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t remember everyone,” he says with a chuckle. “But I’ll do my best. It’s so good to meet you all, I’ve heard so much about you.” To my relief he escapes everyone gushing over him because there’s a baby in the room, so he sneaks me away for a word.

“Are you sure you’re all right? No pain?”

“Hardly at all. I’m fine, the doctor checked me out.”

“Could you explain to me how your slightly older brother has teenage children when you said Layla was the first baby in your family, then?”

“Well, they’re Jane’s from a previous relationship. She was only seventeen when she had Nic and nineteen when she had Dan.”

“Oh, wow. Now it makes sense. And your parents are divorced, right?”

“Yes.” I laugh. “Have been for a number of years, but they get along well enough for family gatherings.”

“Amazing.”

“Right,” Abby interrupts with Jane hot on her heels. “Grandma is having Layla cuddles, you need to spill it.”

“I might just go get a drink and have a chat with Sam, huh?” Tom says before he makes his escape.

They both stare at me with their eyebrows raised, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“What?”

“Tom Hiddleston? Come on, Becca. Isn’t there a rule about dating clients or something?”

“Hmm… nope. There is not. Lucky for me.”

“When did this happen? Pretty soon after you went back, I’m guessing?” Abby says.

“Yeah, uh. I mean we stayed in touch after I did the interview because we just got along so well… and then when I got back we started dating.”

“So he knows all about Nathan and James?”

“He does, yeah. He’s been wonderful. We’re having dinner with Nathan and Tahlie tomorrow night.”

“Tahlie? Nathan is seeing Tahlie?”

“Nathan is living with Tahlie. He’s in love with Tahlie.”

“That must sting a bit.”

“Yes and no, he deserves to be happy.” I shrug.

“So do you, lovely,” Abby squeezes my shoulders. “I’m so happy for you being in love with someone so sweet. And hot.”

“And British,” Jane adds.

When we sit down for dinner I notice Tom giving Dan and Nic a good ribbing about something they were talking about earlier, and when Layla starts to cry he leaps up from the table.

“Oh. May I?” He says to Abby with a blush rising in his cheeks.

“Go ahead,” she laughs.

When he picks her up my heart just about implodes in my chest. He speaks so softly against her head that I can’t hear his words, but the quiet calm in the melody of his voice makes the whole room stop and watch him. I can’t take my eyes from him, the way he holds her up against his chest with her tiny head in the crook of his neck… Layla is beautiful and holding her made me feel desires I didn’t know I had, but seeing Tom with her brings up something entirely different.

One way or another, he needs to be a father. When he’s ready of course, and I know he has no intention of slowing down just yet. Which is good for me, because a child is possibly the only thing in the world I can’t give him. Just for a few moments, though, I let myself imagine that he’s holding our child, his son or daughter, and everything is right with the world.

* * *

“Prue has moved the interviews to tomorrow, so I’ll be out most of the day. I’m sorry.” I’m sitting up in bed on my laptop while Tom reads emails next to me. He pushes his glasses up with a finger and looks over at me.

“Don’t be silly, I’m a big boy. I can occupy myself for the day. I actually have a fair bit of reading to do so I’ll probably stay here until you get back.” He reaches over and takes my hand to kiss my knuckles. “Are you absolutely sure you’re all right? You can’t go out tomorrow if you’re still in pain.”

“I’m fine, Tom.”

“I don’t ever want to see you in that much pain, Bec. It breaks my heart.”

“I’m sorry. Hopefully it won’t happen again.”

“There’s really nothing that can be done?”

“No. Just manage the symptoms. I’ll do better at staying on top of the pain and keep better track of it.”

“I love you, you know that. And your family.”

“We’re an awkward bunch but we have our moments. Dad didn’t corner you to ask your intentions, did he?”

“No,” he laughs. “But I’m pretty sure Coby threatened to have my balls if I hurt you.”

“Sounds like Coby. Overprotective bastard.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on hurting you.”

“You’d better not, I’m quite fond of your balls.”

* * *

I thought I was getting an early start the next morning but apparently Tom was earlier, he’s already gone running when I wake up. For a few minutes I wander around, looking out at the grey clouds that cover the city. I make the shower a little hotter than usual and let the water soothe my tender abdomen, which thankfully isn’t cramping today but feels more like I performed 200 crunches in my sleep.

Just when I’m about to turn off the water he appears through the steam like some sort of god materialising from a fog.

“I’m not joining you, just wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

“Tom, you’re already naked. Just get in the shower.”

“Bossy as ever, I see. Really, though. How are you?”

He steps in and kisses me lightly, my hands resting on his chest. I can smell his sweat from running and I don’t know why that’s so hot but I swear even his sweaty body smells as good as the best cologne.

“I feel good. A bit dopey from all the meds yesterday but otherwise my muscles are just a bit tender. No pain this morning.”

“Good. Don’t overdo it today.”

“Yes, boss.”

I won’t tell him I’m doing five interviews today. Instead I nuzzle into his neck and run my hands down his sides, but he grips them and grumbles under his breath.

“Rebecca… not now.”

His erection springs up against me and he shares my laughter at his cock’s lack of discipline.

“Seriously. Maybe tonight, all right? I don’t want to hurt you after all you went through yesterday.”

“I’m sure you can be gentle.”

“C’mon, Bec.” He kisses me slowly, his tongue lazily mingling with mine while the water streams over us. “I love you.”

“I love you. I’ll get you some breakfast, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m not sick, Tom!” I toss over my shoulder as I close the door.

* * *

What was supposed to be five consecutive individual sessions turns into a group session by the end of the afternoon, and we end up all sitting in the conference room talking together until almost six.

There is no better therapy than talking to other women who’ve been through the same hell and come out the other side, and I feel better than I’ve felt in months at the end.

“Where have you been?” Tom says when I open the door. Oh, he looks a bit mad. A bit mad on Tom is like furious on anyone else. That vein is going to pop any minute. “I’ve just tried to call you like ten times!”

“Sorry, baby.” I pull my phone out of my bag and sure enough it’s on silent with fifteen missed calls, all from Tom. “I put it on silent this morning and I haven’t had a break.”

“Firstly, you were going to take it easy today. And secondly, we have to leave in half an hour. Come here.”

His voice and face soften and he opens his arms, wrapping them tight around me and kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry. I had a really good day and I got carried away.”

“I was so worried, I thought something had happened.”

“It won’t happen again, Tom. I am sorry.”

“Will you tell me all about it tonight after dinner?”

“I promise.” I pull back and kiss his mouth a little harder than usual so he knows how sorry I am.

“Good, go get dressed.” He swats at my bum when I turn around, hard enough to make me yelp in surprise. So much for gentle.


	39. Chapter 39

##  **Tom**

I don’t think Bec has any idea how much I worry about her. In fact I’m sure she doesn’t, or she would have thought about me just once today and thought to text me. I can not fathom the idea that what she went through yesterday was ‘normal’, and her doctor didn’t seem to think so, either. So why did the specialist say there’s nothing to be done?

We’re in the cab on the way to dinner and I’m sure she knows that just looking at her makes me forget I was ever the slightest bit angry. She’s wearing the long brown leather coat she loves, the one that’s so soft and worn in and has her scent all over it even right after it’s been cleaned, like it gets so deep in the fibres it will never come out.

She has that effect on inanimate objects as well, apparently.

It’s long enough that it almost covers the knee length dress she wears underneath, long enough that I can imagine she’s wearing only the coat and her knee high boots, and that thought makes me shift in my seat to hide my cock as it tries to escape through my fly. Her hair is out and hangs around her face and shoulders all natural, wild, and curly. She looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a long time, and I wonder if she might finally be starting to properly heal.

I’m not nervous about meeting Nathan, but there is a little something making me tense. I can’t put my finger on it, I don’t know if it’s worry about Bec or what. As soon as we enter the restaurant I can pick him, he’s the one giving Bec a warm smile, his dark eyes soften as soon as he sees her. He stands out of his seat and my god this guy is huge, he’s maybe a couple of  centimetres shorter than me but built like… a brick shithouse. I say that about Hemsworth but I’m pretty sure Nathan is even broader, and it’s not just muscle but bone structure.

And now I’ve been caught staring at another man. _Awkward._

He pulls Becca into a warm, familiar hug, wraps his arms around her and whispers in her ear while he kisses her cheek. She greets Tahlie with a similar but less affectionate gesture and then grabs my hand.

“Tom, this is Nathan and Tahlie.”

“Good to meet you, mate,” his handshake is like a vise grip but his smile is welcoming and I get the impression his sentiment is genuine.

“You too, Nathan.”

“Tahlie here is a bit of a fan, I might be in danger of losing two girlfriends to you I think.”

What am I supposed to say to that?

“No danger, mate. It’s lovely to meet you, Tahlie.”

I half expect to see daggers from Bec, but instead she’s laughing. Apparently she and Tahlie are closer than I thought.

“I reckon this one’s plenty enough for you to handle?” He gestures to Bec, and I rest my hand on her hip.

“Definitely.”

“I took Tom to the cemetery,” she says suddenly when we’re sitting down. At first I think she’s asking him if that’s OK, but then I see his smile and it hits me like a ton of bricks that I’ve got this all wrong.

“Good girl,” he almost whispers.

“The box was beautiful, Tahlie. Thank you, it means a lot for you to do that for us. For him.”

“Gosh, honey. You’re welcome. It was the least I could do. Nathan showed me a picture of the plaque, he did well.”

“He did. Everything was perfect.”

If I was expecting a little awkwardness, I couldn’t have been further from the mark. I can see immediately how much they love each other, how close the bond is, but also how they are clearly not IN love. She actually has let him go. I drape my arm around her shoulders and feel Nathan’s eyes on me.

“I never thought I’d say this, but you make a really natural couple.”

“You totally do!” Tahlie blurts out, as though she didn’t want to be the first to say it.

“Thanks,” Bec blushes. “I’ll admit I was a bit floored by you two being together-”

“So were we,” Tahlie laughs. “It was at least a month before I felt like it was my home and not yours.”

I feel her stiffen and rub her shoulder, and then she rubs at her stomach. I shoot her a questioning look but she smiles and shakes her head.

“So what are you guys up to while you’re here?”

“I did a lot of interviews today but they’re all out of the way now. Visiting family the next couple of days and then… I don’t know.”

“I’m surprising her.”

“You know she hates that, right?” Nathan chimes in.

“Yeah, the suspense is killing her.”

“You’re a braver man than me, Tom!”

Once we’ve ordered the girls take off to the bathroom, and Nathan eyes me for a few seconds.

“I’m really happy for you two. Truly.”

“Thanks, that means a lot. I know it means a lot to Bec, too.”

“She is doing OK, isn’t she?”

“Considering what she’s been through she’s doing amazing. I think what you did, and what you said to her really helped. Thanks, by the way. For encouraging her, she’s tried to keep a lot of the painful stuff bottled up so for her to take me to the cemetery is huge.”

“Whatever helps her get through.” He smiles.

“When she was recovering, did they mention ongoing problems? Pain and stuff like that?”

“Yeah, they said she’d need more surgery if she started to have symptoms. Why?”

“Just wondering. I think she’s downplaying the physical effects a bit.”

“Probably. This is the woman who didn’t know her period was two months late.”

I have to laugh, he has a point.

“What are you laughing about?” She says from behind me. “You’re not comparing notes are you?”

“No, darling.”

“Bec was just telling me about Abby.” Tahlie says as she sits.

“She had a girl, Layla,” Bec says to Nathan. “She’s so beautiful.”

I can see the twinge of hurt in her face, and it’s reflected in Nathan’s.

“How’s Lauren going?”

“Good, yeah. All healthy and on track.” His smile is tight and a little forced. “I can’t wait to be an uncle.”

“The best part is you get to give them back.” Tahlie blanches as soon as the words are out of her mouth, and I know exactly how she’s feeling. Like she’s constantly putting her foot in it. At least her feet are a little smaller than mine, they make fewer waves.

“Or you hand them to the baby whisperer here,” Bec puts her hand over mine. “You were clucking like a mother hen last night.”

She’s right. I can’t deny holding Layla last night, settling her and calming her when she cried, was amazing. And baby smell is actually a thing.

The waiter chooses that perfect moment to bring our entrees and I breathe a sigh of relief while tucking into the freshest oysters I’ve ever had. I say a silent apology to home, but the seafood there just doesn’t compare to this.

By the time we get to dessert everyone is talking and laughing comfortably, and I actually discover that I quite like Nathan. He and Bec have a familiarity like siblings or old friends, not at all like ex-lovers, and I can’t see even a hint of tension between them. I won’t deny clenching my fists when I think about his hands on her body, but who wouldn’t?

When we’re saying goodbye he holds her a long time and it leaves Tahlie and I talking for a few minutes.

“I didn’t really think about it, but this might be the last time they see each other for a long time,” she says.

“Probably, yeah.”

“You’re really good for her, Tom. She’s so much happier than when I last saw her.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for any of that. She’s a tough cookie. How is Nathan coping with it all?”

“Pretty well. It took him a while to open up to me about it, but it probably helped that I was here and supporting them when it happened. We didn’t really get together until after he’d laid it all out, I don’t think we could have.”

“I think Bec taking me to the cemetery yesterday was a huge step for us.”

“Absolutely. You guys really do make a gorgeous couple, it’s obvious how much you care about one another. Her and Nathan always loved one another, but I don’t think they were in love for a long time.”

That makes me feel a tiny bit better about moving in on his woman, knowing that everything she said was true about them growing apart. A tiny bit. Safe to assume she hasn’t told him we were together when she found out she was pregnant.

I feel her warmth press into my side and her fingers lace into mine, and then I see she’s wiping tears from her cheeks.

“You OK?”

“Yeah,” she says with a tiny smile. “Yeah, I am. It’s been really good to see you, Tahlie. You two take care of each other, OK?”

“We will,” she replies with a hug. “You too.”

I kiss her cheek lightly before we go, and then we’re on our way down the street.

“Sure you’re OK?” I ask, wrapping my arm tight around her shoulders.

“Yep. Can we walk, though? It’s not far and I like the fresh air.”

“For you, anything.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

## Becca

“Is he doing OK?” I ask Tahlie in the bathroom. “Really?”

“He is, honey. It took a while, and he really had to lay everything out for me before we could move forward. You can’t keep all of that pain to yourself, you know?”

“I’m beginning to understand that, yeah. Hey, I’m happy for you. You know that, right? I thought this might be awkward but it’s really not.”

“You would say that, your boyfriend is Tom Hiddleston. Fuck me, Becca. How did that happen?”

“We just hit it off when we worked together. There was probably a spark there but I was with Nathan and pregnant with James, so… then when I went back we literally just ran into one another in London. The rest is history I guess.”

“He really loves you, it just comes off him in waves.”

When we return I’m met with a disturbing sight – Tom and Nathan laughing together. They both have the good grace to look a bit sheepish when they see me, but I have to worry a bit about what they were talking about.

The remaining time passes quickly, which is a good sign. Conversation is easy and flows freely, and then we have to say goodbye. Only then do I realise I probably won’t see Nathan again, at least not in person. He holds me against him and I’m engulfed in his warmth, his scent that is like home in a familial, friendly kind of way. Like going to your favourite restaurant and getting the scent of the dish you always order when it’s placed in front of you.

He holds my shoulders and looks down at me. I’d almost forgotten how imposing his size can be in this position.

“Are you having side effects still?”

“Huh?”

“Remember they said you might have scarring, are you in pain?”

_Tom. He discussed it with Nathan._

“I’m fine, I saw the doctor yesterday to be sure. Everything’s fine.”

“Oh. Good.”

He hugs me again and I rest my cheek on his chest one last time.

“I love you, you know. Always will.” He says into my hair. “I’m so glad you’re happy and he’s taking care of you. God, Becca, our nightmare is over and we both got out the other side.”

“Yeah, Boof. We did. I love you, too. I’m happy for you, too. She’s a top chick.” His laugh rumbles under my ear.

“I’m glad you approve.”

“Everything you’ve done for James, and me… Thank you doesn’t even cover it. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, I’m always here if you need me. I don’t think you will.”

I sniff against him as tears overflow my eyes and spill down my cheeks. “Let him rest now, Becca. Promise me.”

“I’ll do my absolute best, Nath. I promise.”

I stand on my toes and pull his face down so I can leave a lingering, tender kiss on his cheek, and then we join Tom and Tahlie. God knows what they’ve talked about.

The walk home is cold, brisk, and quiet. The frigid air makes a fog of our breath as we walk with Tom’s arm protectively around my shoulders, and then about halfway to the hotel he sweeps me into an alleyway and pins me against the wall, claiming my mouth roughly with his tongue.

When he pulls back I’m panting and my lips are bruised.

“Well, shit, Thomas. What was that for?”

“You were a bit tense for me to do that before. I just wanted you to know how fucking sexy you are, how irresistible. I’d fuck you right here if it weren’t so cold.”

Bloody hell. Is this the same man that turned me down in the shower because he didn’t want to hurt me?

“Let’s get back to the warm bed, then.”

We don’t actually make it to the bed, apparently he’s quite keen on the idea of ravaging me against the wall. We barely make it inside the door before he’s hoisting my skirt up and pushing my panties aside to slip his fingers into me.

He releases me a moment to unfasten his pants – _why is the clink of a man’s belt buckle one of the most erotic sounds in the world?_ – and free his long hard cock. I can’t even get a hand on it or a look at it before it’s driven home until I gasp and bite his ear. Tom has my back against the wall, my legs clasped around his hips, my pelvis impaled on his thick cock. And sweet jesus I don’t care that there was no foreplay other than a searing kiss in an alley, I’m close the second he starts to thrust.

His nose grinds against my face, his jaw set and hot breath on my face, and his sweet deep moans go straight from my ear to my loins and push me ever closer to the edge. Knowing he’s about to come I grip the back of his neck and use the other hand to rub furiously at my clit until I contract so hard around him my own juices coat my thighs.

With a low moan and a smile he slams into me and his hot seed fills me, spilling back out onto his balls and my legs.

After a quick shower we lie tangled together in bed, my head resting in the crook of his shoulder while my fingers toy with the tiny curls on his chest.

“I had a really good day, today,” I tell him. “And I know now that I do need to share with you. So if there’s anything you want to know or ask, go for it. I’ll try to be as honest as possible and not just give it to you in tiny crumbs here and there.”

“Wow. That’s huge, Bec.”

“There was another woman I met today in a similar situation. She fell pregnant from a one night stand so she felt completely alone, and it was a long time before she told her now husband about it. It almost ended them, apparently, because she hid so much from him. That and she got severely depressed and had a breakdown.”

He kisses the top of my head, I can almost feel him thinking about what to ask.

“Did they tell you to expect more surgery?”

Nathan told him. I knew it.

“They said I might need it, yeah. If I wanted a chance at having more children.”

“Do you?” His voice is a whisper, so quiet it’s almost lost in my hair.

“Truthfully? I don’t know. I didn’t think I did, but holding Layla just brought it all back. I didn’t think I wanted James either, but I was so ready for him once I saw that first ultrasound. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

“You know I’d never push you into anything, don’t you? I’d support whatever you wanted.”

“You want children, though.” He nods, but it wasn’t a question. I knew it long before Layla, but the way he held her just cemented it. “You’ll be an amazing father, Tom.”

“Only if it’s what you want.”

Hold up, now. What?

“Or your future wife.”

“Well the only future I can see right now has you in it.”

I cuddle into him because I honestly can’t imagine anything more perfect than being his wife and bearing his children. And I cry silent tears because I know that can’t happen.


	40. Chapter 40

## Becca

When Tom said ‘whisk me away for a few days isolation’ I didn’t expect to be sitting on a beach watching him attempt to stand on a surfboard. I expected to be on said beach with Elsa and three young children even less, but here we are.

Laughter erupts when he falls for what must be the twentieth time, and it’s all the more spectacular because he’s all limbs. Of course Chris is with him, and it’s no surprise his laughter is even louder than our own.

“Mate, you have to sit on the wave, not in front of it!” Chris yells.

“You don’t surf?” I ask Elsa while she fastens a hat on a squirming Tristan.

“No, Chris bought me all the gear but I gave up after he laughed at me the first time. Do you?”

“I did as a teenager, yeah.”

She’s silent for a few seconds. “Do you think you could watch these three for me, just for ten minutes?”

“Sure.”

When she comes back we’ve built a pretty awesome sand castle if I do say so myself, and she’s carrying a wetsuit and board.

“Go show pretty boy how it’s done.”

“I might end up showing him how to get wiped out,” I laugh.

I sneak behind the lifeguard tower and pull on Elsa’s wetsuit, which if I’m honest must be quite loose on her teeny body but it sure as hell isn’t on mine. Tom and Chris are so preoccupied they don’t see me get into the water or paddle out behind the breakers a bit further down from them. With my shoulder still weak and a little stiff it takes twice as long as it should, but I get there unnoticed. I make sure I point myself toward them when I’m ready, though.

For the first time in about thirteen years I don’t think it’s a terrible attempt. I get upright and manage to stay that way until I run out of propulsion, and I haven’t forgotten how to carve which is a bonus. Elsa gives me a round of applause from the sand and I make my way back out to the boys, who are kind of gaping at me.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you I used to surf?” I ask Tom with a smug grin.

“I, uh… no. No, you didn’t.”

“I’m a bit rusty.”

Chris laughs. “Better than this one, though. Jesus.”

Tom points at both of us defensively. “Now hold on a minute. I’m fucking British, I’m not supposed to be able to stand up on a surfboard. It’s unnatural. And we should go back to shore, there might be sharks.”

Both Chris and I laugh.

“While you two were catching waves and getting skin cancer I’ll have you know I was at Eton studying my bum off.”

“Good set coming, stop making excuses,” Chris laughs.

And then it happens. The alarm goes off. The high pitched siren signalling a shark sighting in the water.

Tom gets the wave perfectly, his arms are flailing all over the place, but he’s upright and right on the front of it where he should be. The applause from about twenty onlookers is well earned, although his feet don’t touch the water until he’s almost on the dry sand and then he breaks seamlessly into a run until he’s just past Elsa and the children.

“Apparently all you needed was a shark chasing you,” Elsa laughs.

The beach is cleared and re-opened in an hour, but by then we’re back in the safety of Chris and Elsa’s sprawling home, getting warm in front of the fire pit. Tom balks when Chris suggests they go back for more.

“You’re fucking crazy! No way in hell I’m getting back in that water.” He turns to me. “And you – you knew there could be sharks in there. You should have stayed on the sand with the children.”

“What?! Come on!”

“You could have been eaten!”

“Oh calm down. The only one of us in any danger of being eaten was you.” Up until this point he’s looked as though he had serious concerns but now he throws his head back and laughs, and Chris quickly joins in.

Later while we’re getting dinner ready I spot him outside through the kitchen window, playing with the three children. India is a couple of years older than the boys, and all three of them are hanging off Tom like he’s a tree for climbing. For a few minutes I stay and watch the joy on his face as he tosses them up in the air, chases them around the yard, tickles them until they squeal.

I don’t hear Elsa behind me until she’s so close I jump when she speaks. “He’ll be a beautiful father one day. Hands on, like Chris. He’ll hate every second he’s away from his family and treasure every moment he’s home.”

“He will.” I swallow hard and fight back the tears prickling my eyes.

* * *

Early the next morning he has me on a plane again, a much smaller one than we took to Byron Bay, and I have absolutely no idea where we’re going. Not that I mind once we get off the coast and the Barrier Reef comes into view. I’ve never seen it from the air, it’s breathtaking. I’m still pissed he won’t tell me where we’re going, but I’ll enjoy the view while we’re up here.

“Wow.” Tom gasps.

“It looks a little different from up here.”

“You’ve seen it up close, then?”

“Yeah, we had a holiday up here and went diving.” I turn to him and laugh. “I hated it, being under the water. I felt like I was suffocating. Snorkelling was good, though.”

“To be truthful I’m relieved you say that, because the thought of diving makes me a bit queasy. I can do snorkelling, though. You brought a swimsuit, right?”

“All three of them. It’s not like they get any use in London!”

“I don’t plan on you needing them, but you might for the beach. Public nudity is frowned upon, I believe.”

“Does that mean we won’t be swimming much?”

“No, it means you won’t need your swimsuit for most of it.”

“I’m intrigued, Hiddleston.”

“Good.” He winks, and I can feel us descending. When we finally land on the island air strip I see the signs announcing the resort and immediately my eyes widen and my jaw drops open.

“Oh god, please tell me you’ve not been here before.” He frowns.

“Hell, no. I’ve definitely heard of it, though. Fuck, Tom, this place costs a fortune.”

“And you’re worth every cent. You deserve this, Bec. You’ve earned a break and some time out from the world.” He kisses my lips gently and rests his forehead on mine. “We both have.”

I can not believe this place. Our villa has a private plunge pool with a deck and sun lounge on either side, the living area and bedroom have their own levels and no matter where you are – including the long-enough-for-Tom-and-wide-enough-for-two bath – there is a view of our own beach and more tiny islands across the sparkling azul water. The days and nights are tropical and warm, I’ve only had to wear a cardigan once when we dined outside on the terrace of the restaurant. Were I that way inclined I could wander around naked round the clock.

I’m not, but I’m convinced Tom is a closet exhibitionist. I can’t blame him, particularly with his hard earned body and the additional assets he acquired at birth. When the good lord handed out the man parts he sure as hell didn’t skimp on Tom’s plate.

He’s currently floating on the surface of the dark blue water of the pool, completely naked and oblivious to my eyes scanning his gorgeous body. As I lie in the warmth of the sun in a kaftan the collapsing waves beyond are the only sound apart from the occasional bird song – everything else is still and silent. In three days we’ve done nothing but eat, drink, swim, and make love, completely ignoring the rest of the world. The only phone reception is in the restaurant, so Tom has checked once a day and I’ve sent an ‘I’m alive and well don’t bother me for x more days’ group text to the important people every day before putting them away again.

I thought I’d miss the connection, but I’ve made a more important one right here, between the two of us. We’ve laughed and talked, and most of the tears have been mine, but there’s very little Tom doesn’t know now. Anything that’s left is irrelevant. He’s told me all about his time at boarding school and his upbringing, how badly he misses Sarah and would like us to visit her when we can, and I’m quite sure there’s nothing he’s left out, either.

Yesterday we talked about his fears about going back to London, about our relationship being public. Luke gave him an earful for not warning him about the airport, and I had to stifle my giggles in the background as he held the phone away from his ear and pulled faces at it. And then last night, as I lay naked in his arms where I’ve spent the majority of the past few days, he asked me to move in with him.

“I think it makes sense, given how much time we’re spending together. And with me away so much-”

“Yes,” I said quietly with a smile against his naked chest.

“Really?”

“You’re right, we spend so much time there. Only if you let me contribute, though. I’m not having you own the house and pay for everything.”

“Pfft. Details.” He waved away my concerns with one hand.

And then he made love to me all over again slowly, and I fell asleep with his long arms around me and a smile on my lips.

He snaps me out of my reverie with a splash of cool water. “What are you thinking about, beautiful woman?”

“How happy you make me. This is… I needed this. We needed this.” I feel like this whole trip has lifted the weight from my shoulders and I can close this chapter to start a new one. Not discard or forget it, and it will always be part of the story, but it’s written and done.

_I’m turning the page._

“Get in here and I’ll show you just how happy I can make you.”

“Is that all you brought me here for? Sex?”

“No,” he feigns offence. “There’s swimming and tomorrow we’re going snorkelling. The beach. OK, yes. Mostly sex. If I could just keep our bodies joined the whole time, I would.”

I toss the kaftan off and he watches intently as I sit down naked on the edge. On the way into the cool water he catches my breast in his warm mouth, circling my nipple with his tongue until it hardens. My hands grip the edge of the pool and a moan escapes my parted lips when he looks up at me.

“Lay back,” he says, his lips moving down over my ribs toward my stomach. The decking is almost uncomfortably hot under my back, perfectly at odds with the cool water on my legs. He positions my hips on the edge and parts my thighs, exploring my labia with the tips of his fingers. When I look down I can see his lust-filled dark eyes watching my sex swell and moisten as he rubs around my clit and delves into my folds.

“Oh god,” I gasp when he slides in deeper, and then his mouth is on me, kissing my pussy as though he has all the time in the world. I want to grind against his face – he feels so excruciatingly good with his hot mouth and cool fingers orchestrating a slow climax – but every time I move he slows down until I’m still.

And so, as an osprey beats its heavy wings overhead and the waves fall onto the shore below my cries are carried away on the light breeze as he tips me over the crest into euphoria.

Pressing down with his hands on the deck he rises out of the water, sliding his arms beneath my back to drag me back down with him. He kisses my mouth, sliding his tongue against mine even as I’m panting and coming down, barely able to form coherent thought. I taste myself in his mouth and my hand finds the erection that presses against my thigh, throbbing in my hand and waiting to be driven inside. Without breaking the kiss I wrap my legs around him and he lowers me onto his cock with a low groan into my mouth.

Tom spins around and leans against the wall and I brace my hands on the edge to ride him, attaching my lips to his neck to bite and suck at his skin. The water soon splashes and laps against the deck as we move together more urgently, and his tuft of hair brushing my bud is enough to push me into another intense orgasm.

I bite down on his shoulder and his seed is hot as it spurts into me, warming the previously cool water around my sex as he softens inside.

“I will never, ever get enough of you, Rebecca.” He presses his forehead to mine and I can feel his panting breath warm my cheek, his racing pulse visible in his neck.

“I love you,” I say with a kiss to his lips.

“I love you, too. More every fucking moment.” He pulls back and his eyes flick from one of mine to the other, bright and intense as always, an ocean I’d happily give my last breath and drown in. My gaze draws down over his lips and jaw, down to my fingers drawing shadows on his collarbone and the curve of his shoulder.

“Bec?” He nuzzles against my nose and forehead and draws a long, slow breath deep into his chest.

“Thomas?”

“Marry me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're gonna throw things at me please ensure it's either soft or involves chocolate, I may be thick skinned but I bruise easily :)  
> Comments and kudos are welcome and enormously appreciated (also my kidlets love the resulting happy dance, so keep em coming!).  
> Update isn't far away, I promise xx


	41. Chapter 41

_**Tom** _

I’m quite certain I’m having an out of body experience. **  
**

We’re naked in a pool, Bec’s wild curls are piled atop her head and her soft, smooth legs are wrapped around my hips. The sun has almost completed its arc for the day and is bathing everything in pink and orange, reflecting off the glass that surrounds us.

I’ve just made love to the beautiful angel in my arms, her cheeks still carry the blush of afterglow and my now flaccid dick still presses against her pussy. And then, without planning, or a ring, or any of the grand pomp and ceremony I’m sure I was supposed to arrange, I proposed. In hindsight, I should at least have had a diamond band to present to her, or some words to preface the demand – and it did come out more demand than question – or perhaps played a song, hired a skywriter, something to bring her to tears and cement this moment forever in her heart, ensure that as long as we live and whatever becomes of us this is a milestone she won’t forget.

I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that. Right here, this is perfect. OK, it slipped out a little sooner than I intended, but I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. She’s agreed to share my home, but it’s not enough. She is my home. She is my world, my universe, my life.

I probably could have used those words, and I probably could use them now, but I’m positive neither of us are ever going to have trouble remembering exactly how the proposal went down. She’s looking at me like I have two heads, but I must have done something right because the tears are welling in her gorgeous green eyes.

She blinks and looks away, but I see them spill down onto her rosy cheeks as she catches her quivering lip in her teeth. I reach to her mouth and drag it out with my thumb, trying to break the spell, willing her to say something. She’s been silent too long.

A bird cries out only a few metres away, and I almost don’t hear her sob before she covers her mouth with her hand. I’m so confused I almost don’t notice her legs release me and fall away, just as she’s so subtle about it I almost don’t see the shake of her head.

“I…” This time the side to side movement of her head is unmistakeable, as is the regret in her thick, broken voice. “I can’t.”

I’m 99% certain she’s not already married, there’s no physical or legal barrier preventing her, so what she really means is that she won’t. I don’t understand, and I’m a fool for doing this without the appropriate preparation, and I’m irrationally angry that she would be so careless as to say ‘can’t’ instead of ‘won’t’. For christ’s sake, she’s a journalist. She knows the fucking difference.

I don’t say any of that, though. My brain is broken, my heart is broken, and they’re both working overtime to rectify the situation as best they can, so what comes out after a long and painful silence is simply: “OK.”

Rising out of the pool I feel cold for the first time as the breeze blows over my wet skin. “Tom, wait.” She follows me as I wrap a towel around my hips and shake the water from my hair.

“It’s fine, just… forget about it. I ambushed you and I shouldn’t have.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Bec, please.” Painful as it is I force myself to turn and face her, to take her face in my hands and kiss those sweet lips. “I’m trying to escape with some dignity here. I mean it, it’s fine. I’m going to have a shower and then we can head down for a drink.”

God knows I’m going to need more than one.

I think she wants to say something but I don’t give her a chance, I genuinely want out of the situation altogether. As I stand under the hot water I get to wondering why, what I did wrong, how i could have made sure she said yes. How can I be so certain if she doesn’t feel the same? I was so confident she did feel the same, was I wrong?

The evening is quiet and the conversation is forced, and truly I just wish I could take it back. I have about five more drinks than I should with dinner, and then I can’t sleep so I sit up reading until the sun is preparing to splinter over the horizon. When I slip back in to bed Bec’s warm body curls into me and she sighs contentedly in her sleep as her face nuzzles into my neck. God I wish I could read her thoughts.

The next time I wake it’s light and warm but she’s slipped out of my grasp, and when I reach across the bed for her I find it empty. My stomach drops with dread at the memory of last time and I leap out of bed.

“Bec? Darling? Where are you?”

She’s not in the bathroom, she’s not in the pool or in view outside. It only takes me a few more minutes to realise her runners are gone, and I know where she is at least. If I didn’t want to read any further in to it I’d assume she just didn’t want to wake me, but we’ve run together every day since we’ve been here, and otherwise I don’t think she’d choose to go on her own. Unless she was upset about last night.

Where do we go from here? Can we really just forget I said it and move on, go home and move in to my house – our house – and then… And then, what? I was going to ask her, and I was going to do it soon. Is it off the table permanently or is it just for now?

Much as I don’t want to, we’re going to have to talk about it. I’m going to have to ask why.

Ugh. I’m going to need a whole pot of coffee for that.

* * *

Becca strolls in the door beetroot red and sweating, tight curls sticking to her temples. She’s wearing running shorts she doesn’t ever wear in London and I’ve never been more appreciative of the warm Australian climate. Those legs might not be outrageously long, but they’re sexy as hell. And even though it’s not cool to get tanned in the sun anymore, these few days in the sun have given her a bronzed shine that makes me wish we could live here forever.

She spots me sitting at the bench and her shoulders tense a little. Her long, elegant neck shortens just a fraction and I want to get my hands in there to loosen her up.

But we’re supposed to be having a serious conversation, and I know as soon as I put my hands on her we’ll be headed for the bedroom. Perhaps the couch, or the pool, the outdoor shower…

Focus.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” She returns my smile and relaxes, moving toward me and pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Good morning. Sorry I didn’t wake you, I know you didn’t sleep well.”

“Did you?”

“Not really, no. I kept waking up and you weren’t there.”

“Bec, I need to know why. You don’t owe me an explanation, but if you can give me one…”

She sighs and leans on the counter. “I’m sorry. I’m just really, really sorry.”

“I know, darling. What is it? Too soon?” She shakes her head. “Is it because I didn’t have a diamond? Because I’ll get one-”

She laughs and cuts me off. “No, you dork.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I do, it’s just… Maybe it’s too soon, yeah. I want to move in with you, and maybe we should try that first.”

“I love you, but I’m taking the proposal off the table.”

“OK,” she says with a soft laugh. “I love you, too. I’m going to have a shower.”

She’s holding something back. It kills me when she lies to me, and she’s terrible at it, but I promised not to push her into anything.

* * *

It seems, however improbable, that the event has been entirely erased from our memories. Bec’s at least, I’m still confused as hell but I’m happy to quit while I’m ahead and let it go for now. Hopefully she will give me a sign at some point in the future when she is ready.

On our last day before we fly back to Sydney in the morning we’re both in need of some solitude, and I spend some time reading inside. I have no idea what Bec’s doing, she’s pottering around here and there and she’s been down in the main pavilion for a while checking her messages. Although she’s kissed me on the way past every time it only takes until early afternoon before I’m missing her terribly, and I find her out on the deck by the pool.

She’s been swimming, in a bikini this time, and lies on the day bed face down in the sun. With her head resting on her raised arms her lightly tanned back is all but completely exposed, her string bikini top – another one of those sexy articles I miss out on in London – tied around her ribs and neck. Her eyes are closed and she has that sleepy smile, sunglasses atop her smooth wet hair and her neck bare on one side.

I move toward her and trace a finger down her spine to where her swimsuit bottoms rest on her hips, just marginally above her round, firm bottom. She opens one eye when I give it a gentle squeeze and raises her eyebrow at me.

“What are you up to back there?”

“Admiring my girlfriend, as I intend to do every day. You should cover up, you’ll get burned.”

“I’ll be fine. Maybe you could rub some lotion on me?” She says, biting her lip. “It’s on the end of the bench.”

I take out the only thing I can find, although I’m sure it’s not what she wants. Then again, when I get there she’s stark naked, so I’m not sure sun protection is her top priority right now.

“This is all I can find, and I don’t think it’s sunscreen.”

“No, but it’s an amazing moisturiser. And edible.”

“It’s coconut oil, darling. You’ll burn to a crisp. Literally.”

She stands abruptly and saunters to the other day bed, where she’s completely shaded.

“That’s better. Where would you like this?”

“Everywhere,” she says, lying on her front.

I start with her shoulders, having not really touched or spoken to her today I’m keen to explore every last inch before we leave tomorrow and naked romps are a thing of the past. I skirt down the sides of her torso and rub only the sides of her breasts, enough to make her whimper, and move from there to her feet, deliberately avoiding her apex.

When I move both hands up the insides of her thighs and guide them apart her pussy catches my eye, glistening in the sunlight with a coating of her essence. I lick my lips and tease two fingers between her folds, easily finding her swollen bundle of nerves and her soaked, hot sex. She moans into the cushion and widens her legs, raising her pelvis up to give me better access. One hand slides under her and upward to her breast, leaving a trail of glistening oil in its wake, and she gasps as her lips part.

Sliding my fingers fingers in and out, teasing her slowly until she’s grinding her hips against my hand, I start circling her clit and thrumming it with the pad of my thumb. Bec cries out low and long, almost mournfully, and I lean over her to rest my chest on her ass and hips and leave kisses down her spine until she sucks in her breath.

I know she’s close when she takes long inhalations and holds them in, like she’s holding back and clutching onto that delicious moment when I tip her over the edge. When I do thrust her into an orgasm that leaves her clutching at the fabric beneath her and spilling her juices all over my hand, I don’t stop. It’s less than a minute before she’s gasping and moaning again and a second climax crashes into her, and only then do I bring her down with slow strokes on her back, massaging her ass and planting a kiss at her entrance before I flip her over.

Her beautiful eyes are glazed with ecstasy, her skin flushed pink and glistening, and I take some more oil in my hands before kneading her breasts. I take care to avoid her nipples, leaving them dry and wanting until the remainder of her body is slick and shimmering before I spread it over each one slow and deliberately with my lips and tongue.

As an afterthought I use the rest to anoint my cock until it sheens with the silky pomade, but she pushes me back and sits up before I can drive it inside. With her velvet tongue she licks the precum from the tip, looking up at me with those bright eyes as she takes more and more of me into her mouth. I fist her hair just the way she likes, tugging gently until I feel her lips tighten into a smile around my crown, and she sucks hard up and down until I hold her firm. Much as I love her looking up at me while she takes my length in her mouth, and much as carnal instinct wants me to fuck her throat until she gags on me, what I really want is to make love to the cunt that contracted so hard around my fingers.

She leans back onto her elbows and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes never leaving my dick as it disappears inside her plump lips. I’m already so close thanks to her delectable mouth, but I can still feel her walls spasming around me so I know she’ll come with me if I play my cards right. As though she’s read my mind she splays her fingers over her mound and flicks lightly at her clit, a high pitched cry issuing from her lips when I lean down to kiss her.

“Come for me,” I say with my lips brushing hers, and god bless her she does almost immediately, her moan into my mouth and her quivering thighs triggering my release into her in a surge of hot, sticky cum.

I’ll learn two things from this afternoon, the best conclusion I could have hoped for to our week of seclusion. First, coconut oil really is quite the moisturiser and the best edible lubricant around, but it is indeed a terrible sunscreen. Second, flying with a sunburnt arse and thighs is not fun. 

* * *

*PSA: Coconut oil is not suitable for use with latex condoms, or as a sunscreen*


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the 2nd last chapter *sniff sniff* - there will be an epilogue and maybe some one shots because these two are going to be hard to give up! Take note of the change of POV in the middle and enjoy! Comments / kudos always welcome :)

 

##  _Becca_

Returning to Sydney before we leave is a bit of a whirlwind trip, but we’ve managed to squeeze in another visit with my family and some extra Layla cuddles to tide us over. I feel like I’m leaving lighter and stronger than I arrived, with an international support network of new friends, and I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.

I try not to think about Tom asking me to marry him. The heartbreak on his face haunts me when I close my eyes, but I just… can’t. I can’t give him a family. When he decides to settle down and get married it will be with someone who can, and I will love him enough for a lifetime until then.

In my laptop bag I have the referrals and information from the specialist at the hospital, with a list of the best in London to speak to. I don’t intend to use it, because the cost alone would bankrupt me for the teeny tiny chance that I might fall pregnant. And then there are the risks of complications if that happens. I couldn’t bear another loss, and I couldn’t put Tom through it just because my body is defective.

I’m going back to London, to move in with Tom and get on with my life. Because I promised Nathan I would live, and I fucking well intend to. Plenty of people are happy without children, and I can be one of those. Maybe one day I’ll return to Australia and adopt.

“Everything all right, darling?” Tom snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Hm? Yeah, fine.”

“You looked really sad. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Ready to go?”

He parks the suitcases at the door and finishes his coffee. “Yep. I have to warn you, the odds of going back first class aren’t good.” He shakes his head, and then winks at me.

“Hiddleston, what did you do?”

* * *

A flurry of photographers greet us at Heathrow and Tom holds tight to my hand even when I try to slip away and avoid the inevitable questions. In just over a month my personal life will be public knowledge thanks to the magazine, and it will also be around then we’ll release a couple of official photos and a statement. Through _Lion and Lace_ , of course.

“Where to?” he asks when we’re buckled into the car. “How soon can you move in?”

“You want to go to mine and start packing now, don’t you?”

He nods and his curls bounce like an excitable puppy.

“My place it is, then. At least I don’t have much to pack!”

* * *

_**One month later…** _

“I’m so proud of you, Becca.” Prue pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s amazing, you did a fantastic job.”

“Thank you.” I look down at the final print version of our special edition. It’s open to the front contents page and the back of the front cover features a memorial and thank you to those who participated and shared their stories, with ‘In loving memory of James Nathaniel Horner’ in the centre. In the month since our return from Australia I’ve allowed the official release from Tom and I to be published online so it’s all out in the open, which is much nicer than being referred to as the mystery brunette.

To be honest it made me sound much more exciting than I really am.

On account of me not having a lot of stuff my move in to Tom’s – I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to calling it ‘ours’ – house was easy and efficient, and he’s already left me alone in it for an audition in Los Angeles. I expected to be anxious the first time he went away, filled with dread that he might do something like last time, but there’s none of that. Being in his house, surrounded by his books, his clothes, his smell that permeates every wall and catches me off guard constantly, is comforting. Had we not moved in together a week after our return I don’t think we’d have seen each other, work has taken up my every waking hour. Some of my nightmares, too.

Tonight we’re having celebratory drinks with some of the women I interviewed as well as Prue and Rachel, what was initially planned as a party with partners quickly turned into a girls’ night when Tom had to tell me it was impossible for him to be back in time.

Before he’d let me off the phone this afternoon I had to promise not to end up in the hospital again. I intend to keep that promise so I’m alternating every glass of champagne with a water and staying away from the spirits. Foolproof, right?

He calls me just after midnight, and I might not be drunk but I’m beyond working out what time it is there.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Ehehe hello my darling. Having a good time?”

“Yup. I’m going home soon, I promise.”

“I trust you. I might have done something, though. Please don’t be mad, I intended it to look after you but I just realised you might think I’m worried about you doing something silly.”

“Ok. I’m listening.”

“I booked my driver to pick you up. He’ll call you at one if you don’t call him first.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. I wish I could be there, I’m so proud of you. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait. Give me a call when you’re home, I’ll leave work early.”

With a chuckle he hangs up, and just as he said his driver calls me at 1am and picks me up shortly after, seeing me inside our house.

Apparently referring to it as ‘our house’ is easier when I’m intoxicated.

I flick through the magazine for the hundredth time before putting on one of Tom’s tshirts and slipping into bed.

And then my mind starts racing. Always at 3am.

What if I’m making a mistake by living with him? Am I being selfish when he could be out meeting someone who could give him everything? How am I ever going to explain my reasoning to Tom? And if I have no intention of marrying him, shouldn’t I just let him go now? I pull out the envelope of letters from the hospital and sit in Tom’s office, opening my laptop and using the diagnostic notes as search terms. The amount of information on the internet is overwhelming, and I’ve stayed away from it before because it was too painful, too familiar. Now I wish I’d carried on in blissful ignorance, because by the time I stumble to the kitchen for a cup of tea it’s almost light outside and I’m starting to sober up.

When my phone wakes me I’m on the couch and my legs are stiff and cold. I answer without thinking or looking at the time.

“Hey, honey. It’s Prue.”

“What’s up?” I ask thickly.

“Just making sure you’re OK, it’s almost ten.”

“Fuck! I’ll be there in half an hour.”

She laughs. “Don’t stress, I honestly just wanted to check you’re all right. Take your time.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” With the online edition going live this morning and the print going on sale I can’t afford to be this late, not today.

After what must be the shortest shower in history I dress in a short sleeved dress and boots, slip my laptop into its bag and empty the contents of my clutch from last night in alongside, and dash out the door.

* * *

##  _Tom_

When I open the door I’m hit with a cloud of Bec’s shampoo and perfume, as though she just walked out the door a moment ago. It’s already late afternoon, and I know she’ll have had a hectic day with her treasured edition releasing today, so I don’t call to tell her I’m home. I have plenty of unpacking to keep me occupied before she comes rushing home.

I don’t mind doing the mundane stuff, coming home and putting a load of laundry on, putting away everything I took with me. It grounds me, reminds me that I have a home and everywhere else is temporary. Which is exactly why having Bec in it is so important to me. Just spotting her clothes in the wardrobe, her jewellery on the nightstand, her lipstick in the bathroom, reminds me that she’s mine and I’m hers, and I’m home.

With the unpacking complete I open the office and sit down to go through the pile of mail that’s only taken two days to accumulate when something else catches my eye. The Royal Prince Alfred hospital logo jumps out at me, and then I see Bec’s name.

I hastily put the entire pile into the third drawer, the one that’s almost empty. It’s none of my business, and she wouldn’t want me reading her medical records. There are some things women just prefer to keep to themselves, right?

After some emails, some bills paid, a cup of tea, I find myself sitting there again. It’s calling me, willing me to just have a cursory glance. I saw the date, and I know it’s the records she picked up before we left just in case.

Surely it can’t hurt, if we’re living together, for me to have a quick look. It can’t be anything terribly private if she left it on my desk, right?

Once I begin, there’s no stopping.

> _Thank you for seeing Rebecca, aged 31, for your assessment and opinion. She has stage III Asherman’s Syndrome as diagnosed using the following criteria: pelvic pain, absence of menstruation, ultrasound identification of intrauterine adhesions affecting approximately 65% of the uterus, at least one tubal orifice is closed, the other was unable to be seen._
> 
> _She has a history of multiple D &C’s, haemorrhage, and acute uterine infection following loss of pregnancy at 14 weeks. At this stage she is actively preventing conception and on the contraceptive pill which is also managing painful contractions associated with menstruation. She does not wish to conceive again and is seeking symptom management only. If, at a later date, she does want to explore options for conception, she is aware that long term treatment, multiple surgeries, and close monitoring would be involved._
> 
> _Please keep in mind she remains an Australian citizen and her current visa prevents NHS funding for treatment, therefore cost is a factor in the decision._
> 
> _In my opinion an initial surgery to remove the cervical blockage would hopefully reinstate her regular menstruation pattern and prevent the uncontrolled pain she is currently experiencing due to the internal collection of blood and endometrium. Otherwise this may be managed symptomatically with the medications listed below._
> 
> _Thank you for your review of this patient, I can be contacted at RPA as above at any time._
> 
> _Dr Colin Vincent._

What follows is a detailed report on her ultrasound, with images showing the scarring. I feel sick to my stomach, not because the report or anything else is graphic, but because she is suffering and she didn’t tell me. Because her condition is obviously worse than she’s let on, and because it’s no wonder she was vomiting and doubled-over in pain.

The last pages are a full record of James’ delivery, and although I know I shouldn’t read further my eyes and hands just won’t listen. It lists the name for his heart condition, the reason it stopped beating so soon. The time her labour was induced, when contractions started, when he was delivered.

A report, prepared by her obstetrician, details every complication along with amounts of blood lost, the number of units she received, the results of testing to determine the type of infection that was consuming her already weakened organs. The consent form she signed to have all necessary means taken to keep her alive while she was hemorrhaging; including having her uterus removed entirely. I find a certificate of loss, with Bec and Nathan’s names, the cause.

My heart shatters for her. Although I knew what happened, I didn’t realise the extent of the trauma she must have endured. Going through labour, knowing he was already gone. Almost losing her own life, being asked to sacrifice her ability to have children to save herself.

I blink back tears and replace the papers on the desk. She’ll realise I’ve read them, and I don’t care. There’s really not a lot there she hasn’t told me in her own way, it’s just far more horrific seeing it written so clinically.

My laptop is open before I can stop myself, and I’m typing in ‘Stage 3 asherman’s syndrome’ without considering that I might find something I’d sooner not know. In a matter of seconds I’m processing statistics, treatment options, recovery. And chances of subsequent successful pregnancies. This is something she hasn’t shared with me, not in detail at least. She must have found out when she saw the specialist in Sydney. Why wouldn’t she tell me? Even if she doesn’t want more children – and I honestly believe she’ll change her mind – it surely would have been heartbreaking to hear.

I close the computer and rest my head in my hands, and then I let go the torrent of emotion and sob like a small child. I cry until I feel sick, and even then when I think about what I’ve just read and run to the bathroom to empty my stomach into the toilet, the tears won’t stop.

_She does not wish to conceive again and is seeking symptom management only._

_65% scarring._

_Multiple surgeries with less than 30% chance of success._

_Almost impossible to conceive naturally or carry a pregnancy to term._

I hear the grating sound of her key in the lock and attempt to dash back to the office before she gets inside, but it’s too late. Swiping at my face I try to hide the tear stains on my blotched cheeks and force a smile.

“You’re home? You were going to call me!” She’s not looking at me, she’s hanging her keys and bag by the door. In a few strides I close the distance and hug her tight from behind, inhaling her beautiful scent from her hair.

“God, I missed you.”

“Me too. Are you OK?” She turns to look up at me but I spin her in my arms and crush her against me, burying my face in her neck before I’m overtaken by more sobs.

“Oh, baby. It’s OK.” She rubs my back and kisses my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t even know where to begin. “I just missed you. Have I told you how much I love having you here?”

“Yes, every day.” She chuckles. “You sure you’re OK?”

“Yep.” She wipes the tears from my cheeks like a mother caring for a her little boy, and they threaten to start up all over again. “Why don’t I make us some tea and you can relax?”

“Sounds perfect, I have so much to tell you about work.”

“How did it go?”

“The reaction has been amazing. I feel better than I have in a long time, I think this was what I needed.”

Bec scoots off to the bedroom to change and returns in jeans and a t-shirt to retrieve her laptop bag. She stops dead at the office door and I can feel the tension come off her in waves. Tentatively she steps inside and I hear the rustle of papers, presumably as she puts the documents back into the envelope that was at the bottom of the pile. It’s all I see in her hand when she exits and sits on the couch, tossing it onto the coffee table.

“You read them,” she says softly when I sit down.

“Yes.”

It feels like an age passes between us before she reacts, and she rubs at her face before she speaks.

“Now you know absolutely everything there is to know, although you could probably do with some explanation of the medical terms.”

I swallow hard. “I googled,” I whisper.

She nods and sips her tea.

“Bec,” I put my hand over hers. “I didn’t know… I’m so sorry. For what you went through, for what you’re still going through…”

“It’s OK. I’m OK.”

“I don’t know how you can be.”

“It is what it is. I can’t change it. You understand, though, that I can’t give you… children. I can’t give you a family.”

“Yes. I knew that was a possibility. You know I don’t love you any less.”

She nods. “What we have, though. It’s not forever. You’re going to find someone who can give you the world, and I want you to know if I’m still around when you decide to settle down I won’t stand in the way.”

“What are you talking about?” I spring up, because if I don’t stand and move I’m going to implode. My skin crawls and my stomach is churning all over again.

“You are a natural with kids. I’ve watched you-”

“So are you!” I try not to raise my voice, but I’m failing.

“I don’t have a choice. You do.”

“Bec, you’re not making any sense. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve made my choice. It’s you and it will always be you.”

“No.”

My heart stops, and it feels like a sledgehammer to the chest, the way she says this with such finality. She’s made up her mind, and she doesn’t feel the way I do. I’ve been dreaming about doing that proposal properly when the time is right, and now I find there won’t be a right time. There isn’t a fibre in my body that’s uncertain – she is the love of my life. And just when I thought she was opening up, letting herself lean on me and need me, that I was everything to her just like she is to me…

“This is crazy. I’m not looking for any of that. Just you, only you.”

“I won’t let you miss out because of my failings.”

She’s so stoic at this moment, there are no tears, no uncertainty, no sense of the devastation I’d expect and no sign of the broken, hurt woman from a few months ago. I can feel how much stronger she is now, how much more comfortable in her own skin… and she’s slipping right through my fingers.

“I won’t let you do this. Sacrifice what we have because you think you know what I want.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“Of course, I… I…in the distant future, like I’ve always said. One day, if I’m in a position to have them. You are more important to me than anything else in this world.”

“And when that day comes, you’ll resent me when I say we can’t.”

“What do I have to say to get through to you?” I can’t hold it any more, I’m yelling and it’s ugly. She looks scared for a moment, and then her resolve returns and she stands up to face me.

“Don’t you see I’m trying to protect you?”

“By shattering my heart?”

She turns away and moves toward the bathroom.

“No, Bec. No hiding. No letting it out behind closed doors. I need to see it. Because right now you’re giving the impression you don’t love me at all. Show me. Show me you feel something for me. For us.”

“Why? All the crying and talking in the world won’t change it. You’ve read the letter, do you think I should have the surgery?”

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, only you know what you’re willing to do and what you’re not.”

“Exactly. I get to be selfish with my body and decide I don’t want to get my hopes up. But yours? Your heart, your hopes? I can’t decide those. I won’t.”

“So you’ll push me away instead?”

“For your own good, yes.”

“You know what’s good for me, now? What gives you the fucking right to decide anything in my life?!”

And she’s gone. While I’m stabbing my fingers through my hair in frustration she’s slamming the front door behind her.


	43. Chapter 43

I put one foot in front of the other and before I know it I’ve walked a circle around Tom’s house, so I go again. And again. It’s getting dimmer outside as the sun starts to disappear behind the city, and it’s cooling rapidly enough that I wish I’d worn something warmer. But I keep walking. One in front of the other. Don’t think, just walk. Let him cool down, give him time.

My phone buzzes and I assume it’s a text from Tom. I want him to know I haven’t been hit by a bus yet (or a cyclist) so I pull it out to answer only to find it’s actually my mum.

_Hi sweetheart, I just wanted to say I’ve read some of your articles are you’re so brave to put it all out there xx_

What she means is, in her day these things weren’t talked about. You got rid of it, buried the evidence, and never spoke of it again. She can’t say that, because that would be… something. Why can’t she say it, though? I know there are people who feel that way, and I don’t give a shit what other people think. She knows that. She could tell me exactly what she thinks to my face and I wouldn’t be angry, I’d appreciate her honesty.

Appreciate… her… honesty.

Honesty.

It’s a foreign concept for someone brought up in a family who don’t say what they mean, they say what is the least offensive thing possible. They don’t talk about feelings, they don’t communicate meaningfully at all if they can help it.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

This one dies now.

“Sit down,” I say as soon as I open the door. Tom’s face is red and puffy and it stabs at me to not just take him in my arms and tell him what he wants to hear, what I think he needs to hear. But I don’t, and he sits down on the couch, waiting with his hands clasped in his lap.

“You mean more to me than anything, and I want you to be happy,” I begin. “When I knew for certain that the odds were stacked so high against me having children, I shut it out. It hurts like hell, like a hot fucking poker right in the guts where as a woman I’m supposed to be able to grow a baby, but I pushed it aside and tried my best to accept it. I could have the surgeries, have all the treatments and the abstinence and take the meds all to have that slim chance, only to find that I still couldn’t fall pregnant. Or worse, and more likely, that I couldn’t physically carry a baby to term.” The tears I’ve held back start to fall, and my voice shakes. Tom puts an arm around my shoulders and I lean in to him.

“None of that matters to me, darling. I’m happy with you. Just you.”

“I know. I’m not done.” I take a minute to regain enough composure to carry on. “Losing James, it broke me. I’d never wish that on my worst enemy, going through that. But I could endure it all again if I had to, and I’d risk it for the chance that I’d get a healthy baby at the end.” I look into his red-rimmed blue eyes, and all of my resolve collapses. It’s all I can do to force the words out. “I won’t. I won’t risk putting you through that. I couldn’t handle seeing you suffer that way, the way Nathan did. The way I did. I won’t do it. If I said yes, then one day I’d see you with a baby and say ‘screw it, let’s try’, and then something awful would happen and I’d never forgive myself. I’m trying to protect you, that’s why I can’t marry you. And I am sorry, more than you’ll ever know, because there’s nothing I want more in this world than to spend my entire life by your side.”

“Bec-”

“You’d only have to ask. You’d sit me down and want to talk about it, there’d be a calculated discussion about risks and how we’d manage them, you’d be by my side the whole time. You’d only have to ask and I’d do it all again, for you. I would do anything for you, anything you asked of me. And it would only lead to more hurt than you can imagine.”

Silence expands between us and then he takes my hand. “Can I speak now?”

“Yeah.”

“All I need in this world is you. You’re my world, my home, my everything. I don’t care about the rest, I don’t care whether we can or we can’t, if we explore the other options or we don’t. If you’re happy then I’m happy and we can be content with each other. I will never ask you to reconsider such a difficult decision unless you bring it up first. I need you by my side, nothing else.”

He slides off the couch to kneel in front of me, keeping hold of my hand, and I shake my head violently.

“No, Tom,” I sob. “Please, just… don’t.”

“You said you’d do anything I asked. You can’t refuse my heart when it’s no longer mine, I gave it to you the first time we kissed.”

“Tom, please.”

“The first time I didn’t so much ask as I demanded. This time I’m asking, begging, pleading, whatever it takes. Because I know you feel the same.” He kisses my shaking knuckles with trembling lips and rivers of tears stream down my face. “Will you be my wife?”

I collapse into him and pull hard on his shoulders and neck, clinging to him for dear life, grinding my face into the curve of his neck. Sobs and wails shake my body and I heave against him until I can’t catch my breath.

“I love you so much, Rebecca. So fucking much.” He crushes me against him until I feel I might suffocate, and it somehow feels safer than ever. Secure. Home.

I push against his chest until my swollen, scratchy eyes can look into his, and I can feel him searching me, trying to draw a response directly from my heart and bypass my choked-up voice.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. Yes.”

He pulls me down to the floor and I kiss his salty face and mouth, take all of his tears away with my lips. Then I kiss him for all I’m worth, peeling off both of our clothes to make love to him on the rug in front of the couch. It’s slow, gentle, tender, each thrust longer than the last and every kiss deeper. It feels like hours pass before I climax violently around him, fresh tears pouring from my eyes with the release, and my spasms set him off to spill into me.

Naked in the living room, caged in by his long, lean limbs, I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. Spent and glistening with sweat Tom collapses down on top of me and lays his head on my chest while I toy with his hair, feeling his heart pounding against mine as his breath slows. My skin cools and as I start to drift off he tugs a blanket down over us, stemming the goosebumps covering my body.

When I wake it’s dark and his hand lazily strokes up and down my back before he kisses my forehead, then without warning he stands and holds his hand out to help me up.

“Come to bed,” he says with a wink. “I have some special tricks to show my appreciation for my fiancee, and I want to test your commitment to doing anything I ask.” 

_The end._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be up in the next couple of days!


	44. Epilogue

## Four years later

 **Tom**

Bec pops out two of the painkillers from her bag and swallows them with a glass of water, wincing as she pushes her bowl of muesli away.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says softly, eyeing me sideways. “I have an appointment next week, I called them yesterday.”

I have to give credit where it’s due, she’s better at calling the hospital at the first sign of a problem rather than wait until it’s unbearable like the first time. It worries me that she only had her last procedure six months ago, though. The time between has grown steadily shorter since the first four years ago.

“I was just worrying about you.” I reach over for her hand and I’m rewarded with a warm smile. The sparkle in her eyes takes my breath away, even after all this time. “Will you be all right for tonight? We can skip the red carpet if you like, sneak in the side door.”

“Thomas Hiddleston I did not spend all that money on a dress for no one to see it. We’re doing the red carpet.”

“Ok,” I surrender with a laugh.

She’s quiet for a while, sipping her tea and moving her chair to rest her head on my shoulder.

“I was thinking about that new treatment we talked about.”

“Where they try to repair it more permanently?”

“Yeah. It means a lot longer at home and out of action. I thought I’d organise it for when you’re in Spain.”

“Who’ll look after you, though?”

“I can look after myself, I’m a big girl. I’ll join you when it’s done.”

I know she has a good support system in London if she has to stay at home for a while, but worrying about us being apart too much is a difficult habit to break. When Prue fell pregnant with the twins two years ago she and Bec decided to fold _Lion and Lace_ , and she moved on to freelance work so we could travel together.

The sacrifice is something I’ll never repay, although she loves seeing new places and thrives on having diverse projects on the go. Being able to be together the majority of the time, behave like a regular couple who eat breakfast together, and have her there when I come ‘home’ at night – wherever that may be – is something I never thought I’d have.

“OK. If you’re sure.”

“I’ll talk to the doctor about it next week, you can come along if you like.”

She’s learned to communicate better too, although I know it doesn’t come naturally. She’ll have tossed this idea around in her mind for at least a day or so before telling me, and I know she probably considered just doing it while I’m away without mentioning it.

“Send it to me and I’ll make sure I’m there.”

“It’s already in your calendar, you know the shared one?”

“The one I don’t look at because it makes me dizzy?”

“That’s the one,” she laughs. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I pull her against me and kiss the top of her head. “I was thinking about your birthday.”

“Toooom,” she whines. “Isn’t a week with our families enough?”

I’m sure, buried deep down in her most traumatic memories, Bec must have had a birthday party when she was young and no one came. She hates them with the same passion that I love them, and while she’s in her element organising huge celebrations for mine she barely tolerates the acknowledgement of hers. The first year we were together she didn’t even tell me it had passed without any celebration and I only demanded to know the date after Rachel let slip that it had been and gone.

Not this year.

This year we’re spending a two weeks in Menton, on France’s Côte-d’Azur, and because her 35th birthday happens to fall on the third day we’ll be joined by both of our immediate families for the first week. I’ve already booked a tiny restaurant there for lunch on the day and I intend to make sure this is a birthday she won’t forget.

“Absolutely, darling. A week with us all together, and a week with you all to myself. Nothing is going to change that.”

“Knock yourself out, then.”

When she emerges from the bedroom early that evening no one would guess she was doubled over in pain only this morning. Her dress is dusty pink, one shoulder bare with a wide black band of sheer fabric around her tiny waist. The skirt is soft and swishes around her knees when she walks, her lovely toned legs bare and smooth.

“Hey, hot stuff. Need a date?” I hold out a hand and she smiles.

“Nah, I’ve got one, should be here any minute. Last I saw him he was wearing ten year old sweatpants, kind of tall… haven’t seen him, have you?”

I look down at my own dark windowpane suit and light blue shirt, pushing my glasses back up my nose while I try to look offended.

“I’ll have you know those sweatpants are practically new.”

“Tom, you’ve had them longer than you’ve had me. Much longer, they had a hole the first time I saw them.”

“Admit it, you love them.”

“I love them on the floor by the bed.” She leans up and kisses my lips, her heels making her almost able to reach my chin without me bending to meet her.

“You’re in luck then, that’s where I left them.”

She smooths her hands over my lapels and straightens my tie, the diamond on her left hand sparkling under the kitchen light. Simple and elegant, I knew it was the one when I first saw it in a window in London but I hesitated for weeks because I didn’t think it was big or expensive enough. I’ll never forget the way she laughed when I told her the story, the way her eyes lit up when I took her inside so she could try it on, the tears when I slid it onto her finger.

“Ready?” I ask, trailing my fingers over her bare shoulder.

“One more thing.” She holds up a finger and disappears into the office, returning with a cardboard sign around her neck. “Rach made it for me, what do you think?”

“ _No, we’re not married or pregnant yet. Ask Tom about his work. He likes that._ ” I read the hand-lettering aloud. “I love it.”

I laugh and drag her by the hand to the door where she leaves it behind on the hall table.

* * *

Becca taps her foot on the chair leg outside Dr Bray’s office and I squeeze her hand in an attempt to reassure her.

“Come in, guys,” she says finally from a doorway just down the hall. “You’re having symptoms again, Bec?”

“Yeah. I think maybe we should think about the other procedure.”

Dr Bray nods. “I think that’s a good idea. We’ve talked about it before, but it will mean a stay in hospital and some restrictions and medications for a while after. Do you have any questions?”

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asks softly. “Are there other options?”

Slowly but surely it’s wearing her down, and I’ve noticed it particularly the past year. She’s tracking her cycle and making sure she’s not too far from home at the beginning of each one in case she’s crippled by pain. The first few she assured me everything was fine and I tried to ignore it, but it’s seeping back in again. The fear, the anxiety, the elephant in the room we don’t talk about with anyone else.

“At that point I’d recommend a hysterectomy. You can’t live like this.”

She nods matter-of-factly but I know she’s barely holding it together. “Ok. If it does work, though… is there any chance I might get pregnant?”

“We’ll hit it with everything we’ve got and get you to a point where you have the best possible chance. If nothing else this treatment should last longer, if it does recur it will be slower. It will give you at least twelve months to try.”

I feel her hand relax a little in mine and she looks up at me with a tiny smile.

“Let’s do it, then.”

## Becca

Diamonds of sunlight reflect off the water just a few metres away, dazzling my eyes until I drag them away and back to the man next to me.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” dad says into my ear.

“Thanks, dad.” I smile and my own blue eyes seem reflected back at me. “I’m so glad you came. All of you. It means a lot.”

“Well, when our only daughter’s fiancée says jump, we get on a plane,” he laughs. “Where is Tom, by the way?”

“I have no idea.”

The bastard is hiding, I’ll bet. Letting me be the one gushed over in a restaurant full of our dearly beloved while he has a quiet drink out the back to calm his nerves. Probably a sneaky cigarette, too. He thinks I don’t know about those.

“Speak of the devil.”

I turn and spot him over by the bar, his light grey shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the deep V showing the chest hair I love to tease him about. With black tailored pants and shiny patent shoes he looks like he just strolled out of a wedding party.

“If I could have everyone’s attention for a few minutes,” he projects across the room and everyone falls silent, his hand outstretched for me to join him. The short silver dress I chose for today felt a little over the top with its lace sleeves and silk waist tie, but next to Tom it’s perfect.

“Ready, gorgeous?” he whispers as he plants a kiss on my cheek.

“Sure am.”

“You all know Bec and I don’t do things the traditional way, hence when she accepted my second proposal four years ago we didn’t get married right away. In fact some of you have wondered whether we’ll tie the knot at all, and I myself have wondered why I felt it so important to get that ring on her finger now that I know how magic it is just to have her by my side every day.”

He pauses to sip his drink and wink down at me.

“Today, for the first time since we met, we have every member of our immediate family in one place. The white dress, the church, the aisle… none of that is important.”

There are gasps around the room when he pulls two white gold rings from his pocket and hands the larger one to me. As he turns to face me and takes both of my hands in his I look up into his eyes and see the same blue dazzle I saw on the sea only a few moments ago. I expected at least one of us to be nervous, but I’ve never felt more comfortable.

“My Rebecca,” he begins. “I say ‘my Rebecca’ not because you are my possession but because you are my everything. The light in my days, the love of my life. I take you as you are now and who you are yet to become. I promise to listen until you feel heard, support your every endeavour, and be right by your side while you chase your dreams. I will love you and have faith in your love for me no matter what may befall us, and treasure that same love in every day of happiness. I promise to guide but not push you, to encourage you and raise you up out of your comfort zone. We will dance in the pouring rain and swim in the freezing ocean without a moment’s hesitation, because as long as I have you I have all that I need.”

Taking the ring from his pocket he slides it onto my left hand, the first sign of a tremble in his lips.

“With this ring, I take you Rebecca as my partner in crime, my sidekick, my wife. I pledge my love and life to you eternally.”

I draw a deep breath and look up at Tom. My Tom.

“Thomas William Hiddleston, the first time we met my soul was drawn to you as though it was holding on to you until I was ready. Your love is like nothing I’ve ever known, your arms my solace and safety, your name etched on my heart. I promise to communicate as well as listen, support you and let you support me, celebrate your triumphs and mourn your losses together as though they were my own. I will love, honour, cherish, and sometimes obey you through all our years and all that life may bring. When you need a familiar face, a warm embrace, or a loving hand to dry your tears, you need only look to your side and I will be there.”

I stop and swipe and my nose and catch a tear from his cheek with my thumb. Then I slide the ring onto his finger.

“With this ring, I take you Thomas as the half that makes us whole, my ray of sunshine, my husband. I pledge my love and life to you eternally.”

Surrounded by our families I pull him down into a deep kiss and he dips me backward until laughter erupts amid the claps and cheers. None of them need to know the official ceremony was conducted in London a few days ago with the bare minimum vows and signing of the register by Prue and Henry. It didn’t feel real then, but it does now.

Late that night, standing on the balcony while Tom showers I sip at a glass of wine and stare out over the ocean below, the warm breeze tugging at my satin robe. I hear his soft footfalls approaching and he smoothes his hands over my shoulders.

“Happy birthday, Mrs Hiddleston.”

I lean back against him and sigh as he wraps his arms tight around me. “What a beautiful day.”

“How are you feeling?”

“On top of the world. I never want this day to end.” He holds my hair aside and plants kisses on my neck and shoulder.

“It’s not over yet.”

“I have to tell you something. From my last appointment with Dr Bray.”

I turn in his arms and he looks at me intently.

“We’re all clear to try for a baby. There’s no guarantee, but she did say my uterus looked very favourable. The most favourable she’s seen this year, all accommodating and warm, waiting for an embryo to just nestle in there.”

“Why am I so turned on by that?”

She didn’t say that, exactly. She said there would be close monitoring, a lot of tests, I wouldn’t be able to travel for the duration of the pregnancy and I’d have to continue the medications until she says otherwise. After being forced to abstain completely for almost two months and then use condoms to strict instructions for another two, it’s a relief to know that now we have an extended amount of time together we can just go for it.

None of that is important right now, Tom sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the bedroom bridal-style. “I’ve always wanted to do that with an actual bride,” he says with a beaming smile, tossing my robe onto the nearest chair.

For the next two nights and then another six nights and days we are almost never parted. If our bodies aren’t joined in some copulative act then they’re touching in some other way. I’ve never had so much sex, never been treated with so much care, and never been more in love. Whatever will be, will be, and the only thing I’m certain of is us. We can conquer, we can make peace, we can and will grow stronger through whatever life throws at us.

“Hey, Mrs Hiddleston,” he calls from the bedroom. I thought he’d like a sleep in on our last day here, but I guess he has other ideas. “Come back to bed!”

And I do, without a shred of obligation. I did promise to obey him sometimes.


	45. Pudding and Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas one-shot

A black canvas sky twinkles with shimmering silver stars, the frigid air still and peaceful. The street below is empty and quiet, the parked cars like faithful sleeping animals waiting for their owners’ call in the chaos of visiting every branch of the family tree in the following days. In some of the houses tiny lights still sparkle in the windows like beacons guiding Santa to the good children, or in our case providing a little festive warmth for a wife eagerly awaiting the return of her husband.

With a yawn I let the curtain fall back into place and return to my book on the couch, willing him to hurry, praying he will be home before I fall asleep. The picture on the wall draws my attention, a photograph taken at our wedding in France. My handsome man, my husband, my Tom. Our short marriage has had a tumultuous beginning and I fear the poor man has endured more hurt than he should in a lifetime before we’ve even celebrated half a year.

My stoic man in public, my emotional man behind closed doors, my tireless support. I knew this would be hard on Tom and it took a lot of convincing for me to agree to take him on a journey that would inevitably involve anxious waits and shattering blows. The first time I couldn’t contain my excitement, rushing back to the bedroom where he slept and waking him by bouncing on the mattress to wave the little stick in front of his bleary eyes.   
“I can’t read it, is it positive?” he said with a tentative smile, which turned to a frown before I could answer. “Darling, did you just pee on that?”   
“Yes and yes!” I squealed. We hugged and kissed and cried together in unbridled joy even though we both should have known better.   
“It’s gone,” the doctor would tell us a few weeks later. We left the hospital with a stack of forms for early tests in case there might be a next time, and Tom’s broken heart in my hands. “Keep trying,” she said, as though I were a small child who’s colouring slipped outside the lines.

“Really? So soon?” he said over the phone when next time came. “Have you had the blood test?”   
“Yes,” I replied sheepishly. “Every two days for two weeks.”   
His scolding was a small sacrifice for the reassurance that I wouldn’t have to see that pain in his eyes again.   
But I did.  
The second loss was exponentially worse than the first because we knew it was happening when the magic number on my blood tests plateaued and then began to fall. Being prepared didn’t soften the blow, nor did the doctor’s encouraging words about making it a little further this time and not giving up hope. Tom came home despite my protests and only when he held me and cried I realised he needed me as much as I needed him. His eyes were dull and grey when he asked me if I wanted to continue, if I was sure I could endure further months of uncertainty.  
And I meant it when I said ‘yes’. But Tom… my big-hearted man, my selfless man, my sensitive man… he was fraying at the seams. I can carry the burden for us both, handle the fear and nauseating anxiety as the days tick over, but I won’t subject him to it. I’d do it for him, but not to him. After the next month he stopped asking and I stopped bringing it up. Knowing how terrible Tom is with dates I knew he wouldn’t know when he should start to wonder so I deliberately didn’t talk about it and just made sure we were together at the right times.

The clock on top of the piano is about to tick beyond midnight and into Christmas day, and Tom should have been home hours ago. We haven’t spoken as regularly the past two months and I’ve made excuses not to travel to him like I normally would. I miss him terribly and I just need him to be here now. My eyes keep falling closed so I move into the kitchen and boil the kettle for a cup of tea, stifling a yawn while I pull down two mugs in the hope that a strong cuppa will summon him from thin air.   
“Merry Christmas,” I say softly, tugging my cardigan around my chest.   
Finally I hear his key in the lock and run to the door as he’s opening it.   
“Hello, my darling,” he says in his deep, smooth voice, wrapping his arms around me and kicking the door closed. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”   
“I was waiting up for you. What happened?”   
“I’m so sorry. My phone was flat and our flight was delayed… I’m here now.”   
I’m swept up in his deep kiss, our tongues thoroughly reacquainted and my lips swollen when he pulls back.   
“May I take you to bed, Mrs Hiddleston?”   
“In a minute, I have something for you.”   
“It can wait until morning,” he says, kissing my neck. “I have something else that won’t.”   
“Tom,” I giggle. “I mean it.”   
“Bec, there is nothing you could give me right now that would be more satisfying than what I’m offering. Technically it isn’t Christmas yet.”   
“It is, it’s after midnight. Now sit on the couch, please.” He’s not an easy man to argue with at the best of times, and when he comes home all amorous and with that telltale bulge hard against my hip it’s a hundred times worse. Sometimes I win, though. He flops down on the couch while I switch on the television and DVD player.   
“What’s this?” he asks at the black and white mottled screen. “It looks like-” he cuts off and covers his mouth with a huge hand when the white becomes larger and clearer. “Is it?”   
“Yes, Tom. That’s our baby.”   
“It’s… but… there are limbs and a head. This isn’t anything like last time.”   
“We’re a little more developed than before. About ten weeks.”   
“Ten?! Rebecca Hiddleston, you promised me-”   
I silence him with a finger on his lips and unmute the television. A whooshing beat fills the room thanks to the speaker system and he looks around and then back at me.   
“That is our baby’s heartbeat. And it’s chosen a better address this time. Less hostile, more fertile.”   
For the next ten minutes I point out all of the things the doctor pointed out to me; the head, the bum, the arms and legs, the length (apparently bub gets his or hers from their father), and the position in my womb far away from the scarred areas.   
“She’s confident it will be ok. No guarantees, but everything looks good.”   
“I… I can’t even… there will be consequences for this, miss. You’re lucky I’m too happy to be mad. I love you.”   
“I love you, too. You can take me to bed now.”

He undresses me slowly, reverently, taking his time with every button and clasp, dragging my sleeves and bra straps down my arms and rolling my panties delicately down to my ankles. Lying me back on the bed he kisses up the inside of my legs, alternating sides and abrading my smooth skin with his scratchy goatee. From the dark spatter of stubble when he left it’s a positive change and I must remember to tell him how I love it, he’s always so conscious of its ginger colouring.

Nuzzling my cleft he inhales deeply and groans against my mound before parting my labia with his tongue and lapping lazily around my clit. I don’t know if it’s the lessons in elocution, the vocal training, or natural talent, but the things this man can do with his tongue are so sinful he should never be allowed within a block of a church. I’m certain half of them are illegal in some countries.   
Tom builds me slowly until I’m clutching at the sheets, tormented moans torn from my throat as he slides two fingers inside and finally tips me over the edge, drawing it out until I’m quaking on the bed.

Kissing up over my torso he catches my nipple in his mouth and teases with his tongue while I attempt to catch my breath, meeting my lips in a searing kiss while I push him to his back and straddle his hips. His erection presses into my stomach as I move back and forth and nip at his jaw and neck, dripping precum between our bodies. I guide him inside and sink down his length, savouring every vein and texture of his thick pink cock as it fills me, rocking forward and back slowly while his teeth clench in appreciation.

I sit upright and Tom rises to press against me, his hands roaming my back and pulling my hips faster as I grind down on his length. He rubs all the right places inside and I know when he grips the back of my head and holds my face against his he’s close, his nose squashing mine as we move together and my walls contract in ecstasy, triggering his release.   
As I tuck my head into his shoulder he smooths my hair with his long fingers and kisses it gently, pausing to inhale the scent.   
“I missed you so much, I thought I’d upset you or something when you didn’t come over.”   
“I’m sorry I kept it from you, Tom. I just couldn’t put you through that all over again if it didn’t work out, I didn’t want to see that pain in your eyes ever again.”   
“You don’t need to protect me, darling. That’s my job. Promise me you’ll be honest from now on.”   
“I promise.”   
“Good,” he says with a yawn.   
I was expecting a little more chastising but in less than two minutes he’s in a deep sleep while I draw patterns on his bare chest in the moonlight.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says as my eyes flutter open the next morning. “Did you sleep well?”   
“Very well,” I roll over so our bodies are pressed together and snuggle into his warmth.   
“That really happened, didn’t it? I didn’t dream it?”   
I smile and look up into his face, stroking my fingers over his jaw and cheek. “We’re having a baby, Tom. You’re going to be a daddy.”   
“Best Christmas gift ever,” he says with a smile and a hint of tears in his blue eyes. “Say it again.”   
“You’re going to be a daddy. Merry Christmas.”   
“I know we’re not out of the woods yet, but what you’ve endured to get here is remarkable. You amaze me.”   
“Seeing that joy on your face makes it all worth it.”

Two hours later we emerge from the bedroom and exchange gifts – a leather camera bag for me and custom leather gloves for mister 'my hands are frozen but my fingers are ridiculously long’ – and spend the rest of the day and early evening celebrating with Tom’s family. I easily agreed to his request to keep our news between us a little longer given he has so few secrets its a novelty being the only two people in the world who know, but I think the way we’ve behaved with the children and babies coupled with me politely declining alcohol has well and truly given us away. By the end of the day all three Hiddleston women have given me a knowing smile and wink uncannily like the one Tom has given me more than once across the table.

Late in the evening we sit outside and enjoy another still night where the stars twinkle a little brighter than usual and I make a wish on a passing meteorite. All I need is for everything to turn out ok. Whatever I have to go through, however anxious I might be that we’ll be heartbroken again, I need a happy ending. For my loving, spirited, family man.   
Falling asleep in his arms that night I have an unfamiliar feeling of security in our future and inexplicable faith that it will all be ok.

With Christmas and New Year celebrations behind us I wake with Tom’s warm breath on my neck and smile; the novelty of having him home showing no sign of wearing off. The reassured feeling of a few weeks ago has been replaced with butterflies of anxiety as my still slumbering body belies my racing thoughts. The man-sloth stirs and rubs his hands over my front while holding me with his long legs. “Good morning, love. Excited about today?”   
“Yes,” I say softly.   
He pulls me to my back and waits for me to look up, his hand covering the tiny swelling below my navel.   
“I know you’re worried, but I just know everything is fine in there. We have a healthy baby in there, darling. I can feel it.”   
“I hope so.”   
“How about I relax you a bit before we go?” His lips catch mine in a gentle kiss as he slides a knee between my legs and covers me with his body, his hand kneading my breast. “You know I always thought your breasts were perfect, but now…” he shifts his body down so his mouth is level with the valley in between. “Delectable.”

His touch silences my fears, his thrusts make the rest of the world fall away, our mutual climax leaves me bathed in bliss and still calm and sated as I stand under the rushing water of a hot shower. I let my hands tentatively explore the new contours of my body, my breasts that now spill over the cups of my bra, the tiny new bump in my abdomen that could easily be mistaken for overindulgence.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as we approach the hospital, the litre of water I had to drink on the way threatening to embarrass me if I have to wait too long and my coffee breakfast churning in my stomach. Tom wanted me to eat something but the thought gave me nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy. He reaches over and laces our fingers together wordlessly, curling his lips in a reassuring smile.

As I wait to be called I bounce on the balls of my feet and try to occupy myself with emails and people watching, and just as Tom tries to pull me into a chair we’re summoned into the doctor’s room.   
“Was he surprised?” she says animatedly.   
Tom shoots me and then the doctor his best hurt look. “You knew she wasn’t telling me?”   
“She wanted to surprise you when you came home for Christmas.” She shrugs.   
“He was, yeah. And only a tiny bit homicidal.”   
She laughs and gestures me up onto the table, lifting my shirt out of the way and splodging cold gel over my pelvis.   
“You’ve got a little bump there, Becca,” she says as she spreads it around and watches the screen. “So today we’re looking for any heart issues and we’ll do a thorough look around. I have a specialist on standby just in case anything comes up, ok? We’re also looking for indicators for chromosomal abnormalities like Down Syndrome and spinal formation defects. And of course some pretty pictures of your baby.”   
After a few minutes moving the probe around and typing she shares the screen to the monitor mounted in the ceiling at the end of the table so Tom and I can see arms and legs moving around on it in black and white.   
“That’s your baby. Kicking around looking very cosy in there, heart rate is good and I can’t see anything to be concerned about.” He squeezes my hand and wipes a tear from his cheek. “That’s our baby,” he whispers.

5 months later

“Why don’t we skip the anniversary dinner, love?” Tom says as I puff around trying to get dressed into something people won’t mistake for a 6-person tent.   
“Tom, you only get a first anniversary once. We’re going.”   
“It’s just that you look-”   
“What?” I cut him off. “Fat? The size of a house? About ready to pop?”   
“Stunning. You look absolutely stunning.” He smooths his hands down my sides to my aching hips, earning a groan from me as he rubs gently. “I was going to say you look exhausted and like you’d sooner stay at home.”   
“I’m fine, just your not-so-little acorn is getting comfy in my ribs.”   
“Be kind to your mummy,” he says to my stretched and swollen belly. “Better?”   
“Not at all, but it was cute.”   
“It’s your birthday as well, and if you want to stay at home I don’t mind.”   
“I don’t. It’s my last without needing a precision military operation to leave the house on our own.”   
“Or a nanny, but I’m not keen on opening that can of worms again. Ok, let’s go then.”

I thought we’d be taking the Jag, but he’s arranged a car to meet us at the door, I assume so that he can have a drink for us both. It’s not that he doesn’t let me drive his car on the odd occasion, but I literally can’t fit my huge pregnant belly behind the steering wheel any more.   
Because Tom has been home for the last five weeks I’m all up to date on his news, so the conversation inevitably turns to baby names.   
“Admit it, you wanting William has nothing to do with it being a family name.”   
“But it is a family name, so it fits.”   
“We are not calling it William, or Will, or Shakespeare.”   
“Well of course,” he rolls his eyes, “Shakespeare is just being pompous.”   
“I would consider Billy, though. For a boy or a girl.”   
“Ok. We have one name we agree on. What about George?”   
“Nope. Prince George. Cedric?”   
“Absolutely not. Charlie?”   
I take a few moments to consider it because I haven’t before. “I like it. A lot, actually. Charlie Hiddleston. What do you think of Buster?”   
“Did you just make that up?” he says incredulously.   
“No, but obviously it’s off the list,” I sigh. “We’re gonna have a nameless baby in a month, Tom.”   
He pulls out his phone and starts running through lists from Norbert to Zara and everything in between, each met with varying degrees of disapproval. A hard kick in my back makes me straighten and inhale sharply through my teeth, replaced by a dull ache that has me rubbing at it as he suggests more names and orders dessert.   
“Are you all right? You’re very pale,” he says, taking my hand across the table.   
“Yeah. The baby just moved down and into my hips, I think.”   
“That’s good, isn’t it?”   
“Anything’s better than puffing like a pack a day smoker,” I say with a laugh, holding my stomach to breathe deep through the pain.

The decadent chocolate dessert is arranged so beautifully on the plate – with three varieties and colours of chocolate and a tiny but rich lava cake as the centrepiece – I almost don’t want to eat it. Before I do I punch out two paracetamol and toss them into my mouth, washing them down with my sparkling water. At this point my due date can’t come soon enough; not only am I impatient to meet our baby and fed up with the constant pain in my back and hips, not knowing the sex is driving me crazy with suspense.   
On the other hand the poor kid doesn’t have a name yet, just a short list of selections we don’t hate.

Once I feel so full I might explode I push the plate across to Tom without needing to ask if he’d like to finish it off. He pays the bill and insists on taking me home without delay, I’d like to argue with him but the tablets have yet to touch either the ache in my back or the pains in my pelvis so a cup of tea and a hot water bottle is an offer I can’t refuse. His grip is tight on my hand as he helps me stand up, and then there’s such an intense and sudden heaviness between my legs that I gasp, convinced the baby is about to fall out.   
“What is it?” he asks with a tight arm around what used to be my waist.   
“I don’t know… nothing,” I say as I straighten and the awkward sensation fades with my first couple of steps.

By the time we’re out in the warm evening – by London standards – it’s forgotten. Tom takes a little convincing but we decide to make the fifteen minute walk rather than get a cab, I’m hoping the cramps will ease as they usually do if I keep moving. With every passing minute I find them intensifying until my breath is turning shallow every block or so and Tom is frowning so hard his eyebrows might actually exchange places.   
“We should get a cab from here,” he says when we’re only a block away, laying a large hand on the small of my back.   
“I’m fine, I just need to stop for a minute.”   
His long arms wrap around me and hold me as tight as he can with a watermelon belly squashed between us, and in that moment I realise his arms aren’t only made for reaching the top shelf; if he didn’t have them he wouldn’t be holding me so safe and secure with my head resting on his chest.   
A tiny trickle runs down my leg and over my swollen-to-elephant-proportions foot.   
“Uh-oh.”   
“What’s wrong?”   
“I think my water just broke.”   
We both look down between us to the growing puddle on the ground and Tom leaps into action, hailing a cab and putting me in it first.   
“Uh, the hospital.”   
“Wait, I need my bag first.”   
Reluctantly he directs the driver home and runs inside for my hospital bag, tossing the last few things in as he’s closing the door.   
“Tom,” I clamp a hand on his firm thigh. “What if its too early?”   
“Breathe, darling. It’s only four weeks, I’m sure everything is fine. He or she is just desperate to meet us.”   
The majority of the short journey is spent with Tom worrying about me and me worrying about my likely ruined dress, given it’s the only one that fits my mammoth arse in its current state.   
“You’re well and truly in labour,” Carla, our amazing midwife, says after a horrifically uncomfortable examination. They really need a better warning system than 'this might feel a bit strange’. “I’ve called your doctor and she’s on her way. You can get up and move around if you like.”   
“She’s planning on it,” Tom says as he’s pulling an oil burner and music from the bag.   
“I don’t need any of that yet. Just you.”

By the time the sun rises the next morning I’ve reached my limit. Tom has kept my spirits up and kept me laughing – even at one point suggesting 'while you’re down there’ when I was sitting on an exercise ball with my arms around his waist, knowing he was risking his own life – but now I’ve had enough. I’ve bounced, I’ve rocked, I’ve swayed until I can’t stand any longer.   
“I need a break,” I groan between contractions. “Can’t do any more.” I’m leaning into him with my arms around his neck and my forehead resting on his chest, rocking gently from side to side and hoping gravity might be helping things along.   
Carla appears at the end of the bed. “I don’t think you’ll be much longer, hun. You’re only a minute apart, sometimes less. I can see if bub is ready to come out?”   
“Does that involve you putting your hand in my throat through my vagina again?”  
“Yes, it does,” she chuckles. “Last one, I promise.”   
“Fine,” I surrender, lying back on the bed and trying not to jam my legs closed or crawl backwards up the bed while she measures around my cervix – though it feels more like she’s pulling me inside out.   
She has a quiet word to Tom and leaves the room.   
“What’s going on?”   
“She’s gone to get the doctor and get everything ready, you’re almost there.”

He massages slow circles with his knuckles on my lower back, the pressure both excruciating and relieving the pain in my abdomen at the same time. I’m standing and leaning over the bed, and my plan was to birth upright but just as Carla returns with an armful of blankets my legs buckle, so they help me onto the bed instead.   
Up until this point I’ve probably made more noise than I realise, and definitely more than I planned to. I was going to be one of those calm, quiet, serene sort of women who just gets the job done so it’s fun when reality kicks your arse. Now though, everything turns inward. I’ve never been so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open and my entire body screams for rest, for a break from being torn apart, just for a few minutes.   
I can’t even hold myself upright, so Tom squeezes in between me and the back of the bed and kneads my shoulders. Carla encourages me to trust my body, let it do what it needs to do and go with it when it wants to push, as though I have any choice. Tom never stops cooing in my ear, his soothing voice reminding me we’re almost there, spurring me on with supportive words. He counters every 'I can’t’ with 'you can’ and never complains about the crushing hold I have on his hand.   
“One more,” Carla says. “One big one and you’re done.”

The entire room goes into hyperdrive then, streaking silver lines and all. I get a very brief hold of a screaming bundle of blankets before it’s whisked into Tom’s arms and I’m laid down flat. Vaguely aware of three people working on my intimate bits it’s only now that I remember I was booked in for a wax next week and I hurl apologies at them for the lack of landscaping.   
There’s laughter from everyone at my expense, but laughter is good. No one laughs if someone’s life is in danger, right?   
I look up at Tom.   
Tears are streaming down his face as tiny fingers curl around his ring finger. He looks concerned, but they’re tears of joy and he’s quieted his precious bundle as he cradles it in his arms.   
“Tom? Boy or girl?” I croak.   
His lips move but all I hear is blood rushing through my ears, and I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

“Hi,” I hear him whisper. “Your mummy has had a big day but I promise you can snuggle in there just as soon as she wakes up, all right?”   
A tiny cry echoes around the room as I open my eyes.   
“Tom?”   
“Hey, beautiful. Would you like to meet your daughter now?”   
“It’s a girl?”   
“It’s a girl, and she’s just the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. She’s been checked over and she’s a little on the small side but otherwise fine. She’s pretty keen for some mummy time.”   
He pulls back the blanket and unwraps the most divine pink baby I’ve ever seen, tucking her under my gown so her bare front is against my skin. She’s warm and soft, squirming her way down my chest until she’s rooting around for my nipple. Tom sits me up a little so I can hold her while she suckles at my breast, making tiny contended noises every few seconds.   
Tears prickle the back of my eyes and by the time Tom wraps an arm around my shoulders I’m sobbing with relief that she’s finally here. He dabs my face with a handkerchief and toes off his shoes, slipping under the covers to hold me tight until the bawling subsides.   
“You’re ok, too. They were a bit worried for a minute and you passed out when your blood pressure dropped, but you’re absolutely fine. You did good, mummy.”  
“I can’t believe it. She’s here and she’s safe. And she still doesn’t have a name,” I chuckle through my tears.   
“How about Jessica Nell?” he whispers.   
She chooses that moment to reach her tiny hand up and slap my chest.   
“I think she likes it. It’s perfect.”   
“You have given us the most amazing anniversary gift, darling. I love you both /so much.”   
I groan. “I don’t have to top it next year, do I?”


End file.
